


a good deed in a weary world

by JaneScarlett



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, rdficathon prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneScarlett/pseuds/JaneScarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Live court drama will always be popular.  And especially this one...  This is the trial to decide the fate of Melody Pond, otherwise known as River Song.  The woman who killed the Doctor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the (last) rdficathon! Prompt #51: _The Doctor finds a way to assist to River’s trial for his murder, unable to intervene as he watches River being clobbered by a biased audience._ Took ages to finish this... and many thanks to Sarah and Megs for all their help and encouragement.
> 
> oh and FYI: Doctor is S8 (set at the end of 'Deep Breath').

Regeneration. The act of completely changing -physically, mentally- and discarding your past self to start fresh.

On Gallifrey, it was considered a benefit of being a Time Lord. A way of proving they were superior to those races who merely died when their bodies expired… though, personally, the Doctor had always wondered if it was actually a bad joke perpetrated by the Ancients.

Because the process was bad enough: exhilarating pain coursing through you, rewriting every cell until an unfamiliar face and body and mind emerged. But afterwards, there was the task of finding what will be from the wreckage of what was… You could be anything; and the rule had been that those first few hours were crucial. Your actions, those around you; all of it imprinted upon a new-born Time Lord to turn them into whatever they were meant to be. Sinner or saviour or scholar or soldier…

Of course, he’d never been quite like that. Different face, different bodies; but startling similarities between his selves. (His own fault, probably. Must’ve had something to do with being thrust into dangerous situations from the moment a new life took over; and usually with companions depending upon him for their safety.) And, too, it had been so long since the last time that one might say he was out of practice with the whole process… not to mention that he’d rather thought the last time was the last… but times changed, and the Doctor changed. And now he found himself in a new sequence of regenerations. Starting over, far from home and anyone who would understand.

It struck him, always at the most importune moment. His own kind… on Gallifrey, they’d understood the proper ways to lead the newly-regenerated through the trauma. He never thought he’d miss that; the pomposity of the Time Lords, always thinking they knew best.

Except, he did miss it. The familiarity of not having to explain. Because despite his phone call, Clara had looked at him and seen a stranger; Vastra and the rest were accepting but hardly better.

The Doctor sighed, reaching out a hand –left? Yes, left. He was still having trouble telling one from the other- to close the TARDIS doors, and turn on the engines.

“Do you miss it too? Home.” His fingers stroked the plotter; and the Doctor managed a grim smile at the TARDIS’ soft electronic purr. “Must be difficult for you, isn’t it? When I can’t even remember how to fly you… when I’m still not sure who I’ve become. And this desktop… not enough light in here, is there? Darkness in every corner of the TARDIS, darkness in me…”

The Doctor pressed his lips together, staring blankly at the console before him. He didn’t want to think about the last few hours. He closed his eyes, but that was worse. Not just memory but images in his mind. A dinosaur burning; his fault. Clara’s terrified face behind the bars; his fault. An unmoving body, impaled on the steeple…

His eyes sprang open, and the Doctor looked around the room.

“So that’s it, who I am now? Madman. Murderer.” He frowned. The first few hours of life set the pattern of who you would become. But what if your first acts lead to violence or death? What does that say about who you are?

“I never thought,” he murmured, “that I was nice. Or always right in what I did. You make the choices you must. But I thought I was… that I had…”

He pictured River, suddenly. Outside the crash of the Byzantium, the faintest smile on her face as she watched him.

_Best man I’ve ever known._

“I thought I was a good man. Maybe I’m not anymore.”

The TARDIS started, without him doing anything at all. The rotor raising and falling, the ship thrumming beneath his fingers; and the Doctor watched as she set her own course.

“Clara won’t appreciate being left behind,” he mused. “Ah, for the best. One solo trip, you and me? Survivors from Gallifrey, setting off together. My sexy girl, the only one who could possibly understand how I feel…”

They landed without even a jolt, the tell-tale vworp-vworp of the handbrake oddly muted for the first time in the Doctor’s memory. He didn’t bother with environment checks before heading for the doors (no need; the TARDIS would hardly have taken him someplace uninhabitable of her own volition) even though he did know better. Always do environment checks. He could almost hear River’s impatient sigh in his mind, the stern inflections in her voice as she teased him.

_Why so impatient, sweetie? What happens when you walk into something ridiculous? Or dangerous?_

He scoffed, opening the doors without even a pause. No matter what his wife had said, she always knew. Didn’t matter where he was, he always walked into something ridiculously dangerous.

Except that this wasn’t either. The Doctor stopped abruptly, tilting his head right and left to look curiously at his surroundings.

A courtroom. High ceilings and no windows, the overcrowded benches made of a dark-stained wood. A judge in the front; a familiar looking woman, her face severe and unyielding. A jury panel of humanoids; again, all of them familiar…

He bit the inside of his cheek. That man, the orange one wearing a three-piece suit? He recognised him… had it been on a trip to Magus with the Ponds when they helped the survivors from a dragon attack? The Doctor could remember an orange face beneath the soot, praising his name. And the woman beside him, three-armed and fish-faced could only come from Pagnat. Names, not his thing now. But he could suddenly remember engineering peace talks during their Civil War, leaving his companion to assist in the hospital… therefore, yes. That woman sitting in the jury box had been the chief surgeon, calmly lecturing about differences in alien and human biology to the fascinated medical student, Martha Jones.

Each face on the jury was a glimpse of his past. People he’d helped. Races saved…

“Your life is supposed to flash before your eyes before you die,” muttered the Doctor. “Not after you’ve been reborn.”

“Come on,” someone beside him said. “You roll with the punches when you time travel, Doctor. I thought you knew that?”

The voice sounded foreign; well, everyone sounded foreign these days to his ears. But he didn’t even sound English –he sounded American- and the Doctor turned, knowing instantly who it was beside him.

“Captain.”

“Oh, we’re formal these days?” Jack Harkness grinned back at him, tucking his hands into his pockets and leaning back to survey the Doctor. “Yeah, guess we are formal. That outfit is a bit of an anachronism here, you know. Very… Victorian.”

The Doctor sniffed the air cautiously, nostrils flaring as he resisted the temptation to stick out his tongue. (Far too juvenile; that action belonged to a much younger man who had never minded looking like a fool.)

“Fifty-first century,” he said shortly. “Yet you’re wearing a coat from World War Two. You’re the wrong one to talk to me about anachronisms.”

“But I look good,” said Jack. “Which is more than I can say about you… You’re looking a little pale, Doctor.”

“Scottish. Same thing. Also,” added the Doctor, “recently regenerated.”

“Yes,” Jack said slowly. “I thought so. Because you knew better back then, to come here as yourself. But like this? Smart move. You won’t be recognised; even though, that might help the case.”

Much as he liked Jack, much as he’d always felt he was a friend, the Doctor couldn’t focus on what Jack seemed to not be saying. Plain speech. No word games; was that too much to ask from people these days?

“What case?” He turned, gazing across the room. “And why are all these people here? Never thought the Fifty-first century was into live court drama.”

“I think regeneration,” Jack lowered his voice on the last word, “has made you forget humanity. Live court drama will always be popular. And especially this one.

“This is the trial to decide the fate of Melody Pond, otherwise known as River Song. The woman who killed the Doctor.”

Caught off guard and sputtering wordlessly, the Doctor allowed himself to be pulled into an empty row of seats near the back of the hall. Two thousand years old and he was no wiser; just realising how much there was to atone for. Because he’d never thought about her trial, not seriously… he _had_ asked once, but River had shrugged nonchalantly; never saying much beyond a teasing comment that her barrister had swooped in like a guardian angel at the last minute, arguing down her sentence. (And that she rather wondered if he’d done it because he fancied her… which, admittedly, had made him a bit jealous, and he’d never asked again.)

Damn her for hiding the damage; it must have been a terrifying experience. And, truthfully, damn himself for never wanting the details. Nearly a thousand years, and it had never occurred to him to look it up for himself. He hadn’t wanted to ask then, and he still didn’t; but next to him, Jack shifted uncomfortably, obviously not pleased at having to be the bearer of bad news.

“They’re trying to uncover the truth,” he hissed from the side of his mouth, trying to keep his voice low. “Rumour is that River hasn’t been talking at all since the Church captured her. Probably shell-shocked from the blast of time; but they’re using that to prove her guilt. The fact that she shows no remorse doesn’t help her case, either.”

“Trying to uncover the truth? How would they even know? Sounds like idiots trying to lead each other. Look around.” The Doctor waved his hand to encompass the hall’s inhabitants. “Lower mental processes, all of them. They wouldn’t understand the truth here if it came up and asked them to dance.”

Jack frowned. “This new regeneration. A bit cruel?”

_Yes. Maybe._ The Doctor shrugged irritably, not wanting to be reminded of who he was, or who he could have become.

“You never used to be this against humanity,” continued Jack.

“Before, they weren’t trying to prosecute my wife.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. How quickly you forget Salem, eh, Doctor?”

Despite himself, the Doctor found his temper lightening. “Her hair was no reason to claim she was a witch.”

“Her blaster didn’t help.”

“No. Taking out that barn was a mistake, even if it did eliminate the invaders.” The Doctor sighed, glancing surreptitiously at the other man. He’d never been quite sure what Jack knew or didn’t. Again, his fault. Never asking.

“There’s nothing they can prove about what really happened there at Lake Silencio.” he finally said. “They wouldn’t believe the real events.”

Jack smiled suddenly. “Quite true. Because there’d be nothing to prove about a wedding that took place where time died.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, relieved. “Or how she fought the suit’s controls and refused to let it take over.”

“And upset the balance of the Universe. Some would say she should be punished for that.”

“Time Lord,” said the Doctor. “We are the protectors from paradox. It was my right to punish her.”

“But you chose to marry her instead.” Jack was still grinning. “Can’t say I blame you for that. Your wife is quite a woman.”

He was never certain if he was going to scowl at Jack for the innuendo, or break into a satisfied grin himself. But the courtroom doors opened in that moment, the air filled with expectant murmurs from the crowd and the heavy footsteps of no less than ten Judoon soldiers, marching in time.

And in their midst was River.

So long since he’d seen her, and now it was with different eyes. But he couldn’t have forgotten anything. The way her curls danced around her face, lightly brushing her shoulders. The curves of waist and hip and bum, evident even in the utilitarian business suit they’d dressed her in. They sat her down behind a glass enclosure, facing the room; and he stared at her.

She looked miserable. Not so that anyone else might notice, but he did. She was his wife, and he knew that despite the proud set of her head, the carefully blank look on her face; her cheeks were pale, her fingers twisted together in her lap. All signs that River Song was not as emotionless as the judge and jury might believe.

“And so it begins,” Jack murmured, sitting back in his seat. “The trial that will be talked about for centuries to come.”

“Hardly that,” retorted the Doctor. “She’ll be pardoned eventually.” One day in the future, at least. After his younger self went through time, erasing his existence so that her sentence could be overturned.

“Will she?” Jack sounded faintly incredulous as the opening statements were mounted. “Time can be rewritten, you know. Even one line can change everything.”

“Are you,” said the Doctor, “actually daring to lecture me on time travel?”

“The only other person who might is up in the box,” said Jack. “And at the mercy of this court and her defense.”

Such as it was. The Doctor frowned. Her defense was headed by a man with a mousy voice, nowhere near strident enough to cut through the angry whispers. His arguments were half-hearted at best; as though even he couldn’t manage to believe his client’s innocence, let alone defend it.

“That’s the best she could come up with?” As the Doctor watched, the man looked up, met River’s eyes and visibly blanched, stumbling over his next sentences.

“Not a lot of forerunners for the privilege. I would’ve offered, but… well.” Even without looking, the Doctor could see Jack’s smirk. “Probably best to keep me away from the law. Especially in the Fifty-first Century.”

He nodded, listening as the prosecution began to call their witnesses. The first few were soldiers of the Church, giving various accounts of the scene at Lake Silencio. The Doctor particularly disliked one of them: a stern older man who gleefully described how River fought against being taken into custody -even as the Doctor’s body burned behind her- showing no remorse for her actions as she overpowered officers, leading them on a chase across the stars until they cornered her…

“I hate soldiers,” muttered the Doctor. “Hypocrites, the lot.”

“Not really fair to condemn all of them, for a few who are corrupt.”

“Isn’t it?” The Doctor leaned forward, his eyes narrowed to see River’s face and how this was affecting her. The boos and hisses of the audience, the horrified expressions of the jury… but she wasn’t reacting at all. Just staring before her, looking bored.

“They’re responsible for this,” snapped the Doctor. “They stole a baby from her parents and experimented on her. Trained her to be a killer, made her one of their own; and now they condemn her for it. What’s not to hate about them?”

He didn’t realise how loud his voice had gotten until Jack’s hand brushed over his, cautiously.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Won’t help anyone if we get thrown out of here.”

“Of everyone here,” said the Doctor, “I think that I would have the right to say what I want about her killing the Doctor.”

“You do.” Jack conceded the point with a brief nod, a flirtatious smile for the people around them who had turned curiously in their direction.

“But,” he continued in a softer voice, “only if you want to go up there and speak for her. Which then means that everything River sacrificed for them to think you’re dead would be useless. And you would still be walking around the Universe with a target on your back.”

The Doctor bit back a snarl, his face tight with tension. Jack was right, of course. Erasing himself from history only made sense when his ‘killer’ was locked away, and the world stopped believing that he existed apart from fairy tales and occasional jaunts out of time.

But it hurt, listening to the case they’d built against River. Witness after witness swearing to her guilt, her violent tendencies. A classmate from the Luna University claimed she’d once had to be pulled off him, after attacking him with no provocation. (The Doctor knew better; he’d stolen River’s research and passed it off as his own so that she failed that quarter and almost lost her scholarship.) A waitress from the University local reluctantly disclosed that River had gotten into no less than sixteen bar fights on their premises; though at least she made certain to mention that they’d all been in defense of patrons too scared to fight for themselves.

“I don’t want to hear any more of this,” said the Doctor finally. His hands hurt; he’d been clenching them together for the last few hours, tighter and tighter with each new story. “I can’t stay.”

“Yes, you can.” Jack was completely serious for a change. He leaned closer to the Doctor, his lips close to his ear. “You have to stay. They’ve only got one more witness for the prosecution.”

“They’ve said enough,” said the Doctor, half-standing up already. “What more could there be?”

Of everything in the world, the Doctor hated it when he was wrong, as he was right then. Surprise made his balance waver and he dropped back down abruptly, biting his tongue in the process; as Madame Kovarian walked calmly down the aisle to the witness box.

If there were justice, thought the Doctor, seeing her smile as she was sworn in, she’d have died for what she did. The Church would have cast her out.

But sometimes, there was no justice. He had no doubts that she’d obviously struck a deal… or that the leaders in the Church would have protected their own in the end, despite the fact that Kovarian’s splinter cult had been responsible for killing the Doctor and bringing this whole trial about.

And, despite the fact that it was so clear, now. This –all this – had obviously been her ultimate goal. She had made a weapon, engineered a weapon; but always planned to neutralise it in the end. A gun can be turned back upon its owner, after all; and she’d never intended that River would walk free after completing her mission.

Ah, for a window high above London here, and Kovarian instead of a droid. He’d even accept the blame for that one. Not the thoughts of a good man, not at all; but he wasn’t a good man these days, was he? The Doctor’s hands were shaking, his lips pressed together into a thin line, his every thought tainted with anger and retribution as he listened to her smiling recitation of River’s accomplishments. Video footage was called into evidence and the Doctor watched with the rest of the room in silence at the images of Melody, age six, whimpering in terror as tears streamed down her cheeks at her attackers’ shoves and slaps; until they finally goaded her into fighting back. Mels at fifteen, cut lip and bruises all over her arms. Her eyes were wild like a caged animal, darting right and left as she saw five, ten –no fifteen– people coming toward her dressed all in black, swooping around her like belligerent shadows until she began throwing punches, lashing out with deadly ferocity to bring them all down within minutes.

And then the footage from the Luna University library cameras of River being forced into the suit. The final images at Lake Silencio. Kovarian had been careful, very careful to allow no audio. The entire trial might implode if the jury were to hear River’s impassioned pleading for him to run, the sound of her sobbing.

No, there was only his face before her. The resignation and sadness; and the Doctor found himself following the movement of his own lips.

_You are forgiven. Always and completely forgiven._

The screen stopped on his face, frozen in a rictus of pain and lit with the glow of the energy blast. Still smiling, Kovarian stood up to leave. Jack’s hand closed on the Doctor’s wrist, preventing anything he might have done as she swept past them up the aisle, out of the courtroom. The doors closed, and out of the stunned quiet left behind the prosecutor began her final remarks.

“I know how difficult that was for everyone to see,” she said. “That level of unprovoked, violent attack, and upon such a man. One who always did right by those in our Universe; as I’m certain those of you in the jury box will remember.” A snide side comment, to remind them all that they might not be there, if not for the Doctor.

“If you couldn’t understand what he was saying, his final words, then let me share them with you. He was telling River Song that she was forgiven. ‘Always and completely forgiven…’ but when you look at that woman there,” she pointed toward her, “do you think that she remembers him saying that, or even thought of changing her mind? Maybe you believe that with those words, he was attempting to plead for his life; because it seems unlikely that he could forgive her. As though any of us could, for her crimes! The violence from her youth. The lack of compassion that grew to unleash a psychopath into our world…

“One,” added the prosecutor slyly, “who refused to even speak up for herself, or offer explanations. It is our opinion that she knows there is no excuse for what she has done. She is staying silent because she knows she deserves the highest penalty that can be given, for the senseless murder of the best man we will ever know.

“And ladies and gentlemen of the jury; I hope you will vote that she receives it.”

The eyes of everyone in the courtroom were drawn to River, to see if she might finally speak; but she still sat quietly. Her face utterly expressionless, her eyes staring straight ahead with nothing in them. No thought. No emotion. No tears; and the Doctor realised suddenly that was the worst evidence of it all. She might have known he wasn’t dead; but to everyone else, it was a lack of remorse. And that was what would condemn her.

The whispering started then. The crowd murmuring to themselves, the jury’s mumbled asides. The defence attorney shrinking down in his seat, the prosecution smiling at each other.

“It’s hopeless,” Jack said suddenly. “Open and shut case, immediate sentencing. I don’t even know her lawyer will say anything… I guess I’ll have to do what I’m here for. Get into her holding and bring her something to help.”

“Something like what?” asked the Doctor, pulling his scrutiny from his wife. “A cake with a file?”

“Something to bring an easier death than what the Shadow Proclamation will give her.”

The Doctor turned slowly. “She doesn’t die here, Jack. You don’t understand.”

“No,” said Jack. “You don’t understand, Doctor. If she won’t speak for herself and her defence attorney is useless, then whatever other timelines we know of, River Song will be sentenced today and die in the morning.”

“Ridiculous. She said she had a lawyer. Someone who swooped in at the last second who argued down her sentence to imprisonment.” Regeneration might have changed him, but he could never forget anything associated with River. Every look, every conversation no matter how banal was locked away in his memory forever.

“Maybe,” Jack mused, “he never got here. It isn’t everyone who would be willing to defend a murderer. Or try to find a way to show people that what you see isn’t necessarily the full story.”

The Doctor’s forehead creased, his eyebrows drawing together as he met Jack’s eyes.

“Who sent you?” he asked suddenly. “Was it her…did River ever know?”

“That you might not make it?” Jack laughed softly. “Or that there were a lot of ways this could go?”

He sighed, shaking his head in mock indignation. “You know I’m not going to confirm that, Doctor. Could have been anyone.”

It _could_ have been. The Doctor managed to smile, albeit humourlessly. It could even have been himself, in the future, knowing that the man who would be in the courtroom might not be the good man River had always trusted.

But he hoped that whoever had sent Jack had known that he’d never let her down. Two thousand years; so much to atone for. Especially to his wife.

“Seems a pity,” said the Doctor loudly, pitching his voice for the room to hear, “that in the Fifty-first century, it’s so easy to condemn without knowing all the facts.”

If he'd tried, he couldn't have found anything better to say to shut them all up. Heads swivelled. Jaws dropped. The Judge stared at him, a wrinkle between her brows as she tried –and failed- to place who he was.

“We are not,” she said finally, “taking commentary from observers.”

“Oh, but do I seem like an observer? I'm here for a reason.”

“Which is? Identify yourself.”

So many identities he could have said. The Doctor. The victim here. Her husband. The man she killed. But timelines had to be preserved. Rules followed.

The Doctor stood up, strolling casually down the aisle and being extremely careful not to look at River. Not yet.

“I'm no one special,” said the Doctor. “Just someone who dropped by to speak for the defence.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now,” said the Doctor, “I have two days to put together a defense for you. That last idiot didn’t do anything. I've arrived to find nothing.”

Once, the Doctor realized, he might have rather liked it; the fluster that went through the court at his words, the attention focussed on him that once, he might have preened under. Now though, he relied upon intimidating glares and terse commentary to discourage the stupidity of questions he was receiving from all corners, except the one person who mattered. His wife had only given a negligent shrug when her previous defense asked if she would accept this stranger instead of them, as though she didn't care in the least.

Something about that bored expression of hers irritated him. And it irritated him further when they were sitting, facing each other across a broad oak table. River hadn't said a word so far. Hadn't even met his eyes... it rankled that her brilliant husband come to save her; and she acted like she didn’t know.

But maybe she didn't? New him. New face; and very likely, not one she'd ever seen before. She’d never even hinted that she knew of another regeneration beyond Bow Tie…

Something kept his mouth shut, even though he longed to tell her. Maybe this was what he deserved. The Universe’s form of payback for the Library, and Sand Shoes not recognising the woman who would be his wife.

“Now,” said the Doctor, “I have two days to put together a defense for you. That last idiot didn’t do anything. I've arrived to find nothing.”

He held the blank file out for her to see and River's eyes flickered upwards for a moment before dropping back down to its scrupulous study of the table top. Her fingers were laced loosely together, and the Doctor surveyed her for a moment. As a high security prisoner, her hands were chained, ankles hobbled to render her effectively helpless even when she was with her council; but he snorted suddenly in amusement. River Song was never helpless. He had no doubt that she could -if she chose- get out of her restraints and run; and he had a feeling that what was stopping her was less capability, and more where she ought to run to.

“I know the accusations, but there's always a way to confuse the senses.” He waved his hand around, long slender fingers dancing before her nose. “And yes, you don't have to tell me. I know there are no witnesses; well, there wouldn’t be, would there?

“But character witnesses... yes,” continued the Doctor. “Character witnesses; do you see? People to prove the person you are, not just what’s in your past. Even if it's not like you've helped yourself much with that. Too violent, even during your years at University… who was that mentor of yours, though? Old man with a squint. Far more familiar with you that I liked, and used to look at you like he thought you hung the bloody stars.

“Can't remember names these days,” he muttered. “Was it Baxter?” This new face of his hadn't seemed like such an endless talker; but the Doctor couldn't manage to stop the flow of words emerging from his mouth. Perhaps because River was so quiet... he couldn't think of any time when his wife didn't have a quip, a flirtatious remark to lighten the atmosphere. But with her so uncharacteristically silent, those old mannerisms reared up unbidden; his fingers stretching up of their own volition to his collar, unsure of what to do with themselves when they didn't encounter a bow tie and ending up tapping nervously on his temple.

“Feel free to volunteer information,” said the Doctor. “Any time you want.”

River shifted in her seat, still not looking up to meet his gaze. “It won't work, your plan.”

“It will,” he insisted.

“It won't; they won’t care what people who know me will say. So why don't you stop acting as though you care what happens to me, and say who sent you?”

Her voice sounded rusty from disuse, and the Doctor wanted desperately to put his hands over hers, draw her into him and whisper that it would all be alright.

_Í won’t let them hurt you. I swear it._

“Or maybe,” continued River, “just tell me why you would want to speak for a murderer? Do you have some sort of thing for bad girls?”

_Only one._

“Maybe I’m here because I have something to atone for,” said the Doctor slowly. A sardonic smirk crossed River’s lips.

“Oh, I see. I'm a charity case, then? That's lovely.”

“Don't put words in my mouth,” snapped the Doctor. “I never said that. All I meant is that I can't stand by and watch this... this farce.”

“Seems like a murder trial to me.”

“Farce,” the Doctor insisted. “Because for what happened… you know, at one time the deliberate murder of a Time Lord would have put you in the jurisdiction of Gallifrey.”

“Gallifrey is gone,” River reminded him quickly. Far too quickly; and he narrowed his eyes at her, trying to sense what she knew. He wished she'd look at him. No matter the spoilers that had always surrounded them; one look into River Song's eyes had always been enough to tell him what he needed to know.

“Yes,” he mused. “Gone. Not forgotten. Amazing what can return as long as it's not forgotten.”

She raised her face slightly at that. Still not looking him in the eyes, though.

“Time to talk about lost worlds later,” said the Doctor. “I think your case is more important... I should warn you that I won't be able to overturn the sentence completely.” It was all about timelines and fixed points. Too much of their individual histories depended upon River's conviction.

“But I can argue it down. Imprisonment, not death.”

She finally lifted her head to meet his gaze steadily. If he didn't know River as well as he did, he might have misunderstood the spark in her eyes at his words. As it was, he’d almost have expected a certain gratefulness... But no. This was River Song; outwardly calm, with only bright flashes of anger glittering from her eyes, in her voice when she finally spoke.

“I've been a prisoner all my life. Locked away by the Soldiers of the Church… do you think it'll be a reward to be in one of their cells?”

“It's an improvement to dying.”

“How would you know?” she shot back at him. “Have you died recently?”

The Doctor shrugged, not willing to admit anything, even though she was right. He wouldn't actually know that.

“I won't let you die,” he said finally. _Not again._

River actually laughed at that, the sound brittle. “I don't suppose it's occurred to you that you might not have a choice?”

“There's always a choice, River Song. Seems you've made quite a few that led you to being here.”

She sighed, her eyes dropping away from his again as she reached for the buzzer to summon her guard.

“I rather think that's the problem,” she murmured as they swept her out the room. The Doctor stared after her retreating form for a few long moments, before finally standing up himself to leave.

Not long until her trial resumed and no time to waste; because even for a Time Lord, two days could pass in a flash. He parked the TARDIS in 21st Century Cardiff –refuelling over the rift, always nice for the old girl– while he stayed inside; deciding on arguments, doing research into what he could possibly say in River’s defense. And Jack Harkness was as busy as he was. Checking Torchwood’s records then zipping around the Universe with his vortex manipulator, rounding up as many witnesses as he could to speak for River. (The Doctor rather wondered about his powers of persuasion; but as ever with Jack, it was best not to ask about their dazed smiles when they arrived.)

The courtroom was busy when they returned. Even more people than before if it was possible, crammed onto every available seat. The Doctor strode forward; catching a glimpse of Jack’s wink from the back of the court, wishing him luck as he called his first witness.

“River Song? Yes. Of course I remember her.” Professor Baxter’s voice was querulous and wavering, his head comically oversized upon a frail, elderly body. But his smile, when he looked across the room at River was warm and extremely proud.

“I came out of retirement for her,” said the Professor. “I’d left the Luna University, oh, maybe ten years ago? But when they called to tell me that there was a brilliant young thing who wanted to do her dissertation on the Time War? I couldn’t believe it. Fascinating period in history, you know. Very undocumented; except for my own research.

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the Doctor. “I was asking about the defendant; no need to witter on about academics, Professor. Write a few more papers if you like, but try to get the names right this time. Rassilon doesn’t have an ‘e’.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” the Professor apologised. “You get older and the mind starts to wander.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that,” muttered the Doctor, self-consciously smoothing back his hair. There was a slight whisper of laughter from around the courtroom; and even in her box, River’s stoicism slipped, just a crack, so that she almost smiled.

“As I said, they called me in to speak with her when she declared her intentions. And I was impressed… her intelligence and background knowledge about the Time Lords and the Daleks was incredible.”

The Doctor nodded absently. It would have been. Other people might have had to rely upon second-and-third hand sources about Gallifrey. But for River, having the benefit of wandering through the TARDIS library during her dissertation with all the ancient readings his old girl had happily called up for her child? Yes, of course she’d be remarkably well prepared with her history.

“However,” continued the Professor, “it was the strength of her convictions about who the Time Lords were that really inspired me to return as her mentor. She didn’t agree with them; thought their elitism was pretentious. We had many arguments about that!” He broke into a small, wheezing laugh, his hand up to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. River moved forward in her seat, fruitlessly reaching her hand out to steady him; and the Doctor hoped the jury noted that. Her caring about her mentor’s well-being… a contrast to the unfeeling monster the prosecution had tried to paint her as.

“There are a lot of people who would side with River Song about the Time Lord race,” said the Doctor calmly. “That their pretension hurt as many as it saved.”

“There are two sides to each story,” retorted Professor Baxter. “But River also thought that despite their rules and restrictions, they were capable of producing a few within their ranks that were…” He shrugged his shoulders, a self-conscious smile on his face.

“Good. She thought that out of the worst beginnings, there would be something redeemable. River was convinced that they’d produced a man who would make a choice to save the many, not just the few. And she was willing to do the research to prove to everyone, and to herself, that he existed.”

The Doctor’s breath caught. His fault: so much he’d never thought about with his wife. He’d shown up and expected that what had happened was merely what had happened; never thinking through the reasoning of her actions on Lake Silencio and in a world that had only existed as time fractured.

“Did she ever tell you the identity of that good man?” It wasn’t even about the case; that question. He just needed to ask it.

“No,” said the Professor. “It seemed a personal quest to her. I didn’t pry.

“But she did tell me she’d found him; and that she’d been right. It’s choice that makes you who you are. No matter the past; good does exist in everyone.”

* * *

Good exists in everyone, thought the Doctor. He was pacing outside the courtroom, Professor Baxter’s testimony running through his mind. His River: sometimes so human. No matter her training, there was the kernel of humanity that remained in her, emerging as faith, loyalty; the belief in the goodness of those she loved.

Even if they didn’t believe in it themselves.

_Was she right? Am I really the good man she was hoping for?_

He wasn’t even certain, anymore. He had tried to be… but trying, not the same thing as succeeding. He tried to be good. River tried to save him; and see what happened to them both.

“Doctor? They’re already ready for the next witness.” Jack was hurrying down the corridor, the tails of his greatcoat billowing around him.

“Did you get her?” demanded the Doctor. He peered around Jack. No one else in the hallway; or at least, not the person he was hoping to see. Jack nodded, his blue eyes uncharacteristically worried.

“I persuaded her to come along in the end… but the Church tried to block me. Said it might confuse the matter. You know,” he grimaced, “they may be right. With the testimony from the prosecution? This could backfire on you both.”

“Then I’ll remember to duck.” The Doctor shrugged irritably. “Leave it to me, will you? You worry about getting the witnesses. I’ll worry about what they say.”

“Doesn’t exactly work like that… oh, and we’ll have to talk later, so don’t run off. There’s someone I think you should call as a witness. But when I went to ask, she refused.”

“Oh? Captain Jack’s persuasion methods finally stopped working, hmm? Getting tired?”

“Not me,” Jack said, grinning. “I can go forever. Or at least-“

“If you are about to say,” snarled the Doctor, “ _‘that’s what she said’_ then I am going to walk away.”

“Don't trouble yourself, I'll go,” said Jack, turning to saunter into the court. “And I was going to say: he had no complaints…”

Despite his mood, Jack’s parting comment made him laugh. And that, thought the Doctor, had probably been his point. He looked at the woman in the witness box being sworn in, abstractly running through his questions in his head.

He really functioned better when he didn’t think too much, brood too much about the past. It hadn’t been enough time to be calm about seeing her again; she was still too familiar. The dark, swept-back hair, the sharp features and harsh black tattoos around her eyes, contrasting with wintery-pale skin. Her ceremonial outfit of black and purple… though frankly, he was pleased she hadn’t shown up in traditional Church attire. Even in the Fifty-first Century, nudity might be a little too shocking.

“Thank you for taking the time to be here, Mother Superior,” said the Doctor. “I’ll try to keep this brief so you can get back to work.”

“Take all the time you need.” Her eyes swept over him, her lips turning up into a smirk that made the Doctor stare impassively back at her, hoping she’d stop that. He wasn’t the same man to be charmed by her boldness; not that she would know him as well as he knew her. (Trenzalore was his past, but still looming in her future.)

And while there was always something about those who had dealings with the Church -a faintly reckless, predatory air that their training seemed to enhance- it made him a little uncomfortable, right now. He simply wasn’t flirty this go round. Not like his previous incarnations: his Eleventh self preening when she’d complimented his new body, his Tenth (back when he’d been travelling alone and first met her at a party) dancing with a brazen young woman and engaging her in conversation… only to discover later that she was a new acolyte of the Church and certainly not a likely candidate as a companion, no matter how well she handled the TARDIS.

“As I stated,” the Doctor scowled, “I’ll keep this brief.”

“Such a pity.” Her cool, collected smile seemed to mock him. “Please, ask your questions.”

“Before you were named as Mother Superior in an organisation known as the Church, were you known as Tasha Lem? And a student at the Luna University?”

“Of course. Such matters are public record.”

“Were you also a classmate of the defendant?”

“A bit more than that.” She rested her hands in front of her, slender fingers splayed out gracefully against the railing.

“And would you care to elaborate for the court?”

Tasha hesitated; and the Doctor wondered if she’d admit it on her own. He knew her connection with River; she’d told him over marshmallows and tea, sometime after the first few hundred years at Christmas. Old age and regret comes to us all in time; and one day Tasha’s conscience would disturb her, for her part in River’s history.

But he wondered if she was too young to tell the truth willingly. He wasn’t above forcing it from her… but Tasha finally began to speak.

“We were roommates. I was the housemother for the new students, with my own suite of rooms. And when River Song first arrived, I said that there were no single rooms available, and she could share with me.

“We didn’t get along at first. She had a bad temper; well,” Tasha smiled, “we both did. And her habits bothered me. The insomnia, the violence over the least provocation. But after a few years, we became friends.”

“I see,” said the Doctor slowly. “Friends?”

Tasha gazed back at him, her smile coy. “That’s what I said.”

“Even though it took years.” The Doctor paused theatrically. “Years, during which rooms had to have become available? There was no reason to keep living with someone you didn’t like, or trust.”

“I had my reasons.” Tasha didn’t elaborate, but her smirk grew more pronounced. He could hear the whispers around the court, wondering what reasons she could possibly have had… or the reason behind River’s suddenly tense posture, the slightest pink flush staining her cheeks. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded tersely at Tasha.

“Such as…?”

“Oh, must I spell it out for the court? Isn’t there any privacy to be afforded to those in the Church?”

“No,” said the Doctor simply. “And if you don’t want to share the information you know I’m asking for, then let me put it on the record.”

His words hung in the air between them; and no matter how mild they were, the threat was implicit in his tone. The smile faded abruptly off Tasha’s face, her fingers tightening on the railing.

“Don’t.” She bit her lip, her eyes searching his face for compassion. Once, he might have had some. Allowed her to keep her dignity. Pity for her, he wasn't that man anymore.

“Ah,” said the Doctor confidentially, “but I think we have a right to know the truth about your loyalty and your relationship with Madame Kovarian. Rather, _Mother_ Kovarian?” He smiled at her in a way that might almost seem kind... and a part of him was pleased by how Tasha cowered, her confidence gone.

“It does seem to have paid off for your family,” he ruminated. “Mother Superior at such a young age, above others who have spent years in the service of the church. And an ideal placement to ensure her immunity for her crime.”

“It wasn't a crime,” Tasha blustered. “Mother did what everyone else was too scared to do.”

“Your mother is crazy,” he said flatly. “Evidence packet 5 currently being passed around the jury are Madame Kovarian's mental health records. Note the underlined passages on page two: delusions of grandeur and lack of morality.”

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, seeing Tasha's cheeks pale even further under his gaze.

“Your Mother,” he continued, “kidnapped a pregnant woman of the Twenty-First century Earth and forced her to have her child in isolation on an asteroid... And then took her child from her. Kept an infant out of time to train her, to brainwash her to be a weapon as she grew up. And even when she was older and thought she’d escaped, there was always you, wasn’t there?” He pointed at Tasha, forefinger extended threateningly toward her face.

“That’s why you stayed rooming with River Song. Because Madame Kovarian had this set up! She raised a child to have the same lack of compassion and morality that she, herself, possessed; and then sent her to spy and report on River’s movements. Incite her nightmares. Ensure that she could never become complacent or happy.”

“But she was a psychopath!” Tasha burst out. “That’s what I had been told!”

He clicked his tongue dismissively. “Psychopaths are born, not made. And River Song is what your Mother, and your cult from the Church had created.

“But,” he let his voice lilt a little softer, confiding. “Let's talk about your relationship with the defendant.

“You testified that you became,” he paused to put just the right stress on the next word, “friends. Despite what you knew about her. What changed?”

There were blotchy pink patches of embarrassment in Tasha’s cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut, defensively. When she opened them again, there were tears glistening in the corners.

“She… she defended me against some accusations.” Tasha bit her lip, deliberately not saying what the accusations were. (Perhaps he had some good in him, after all; he didn’t call that omission into the court record.)

“She didn’t have to,” Tasha muttered. “There was no reason… I don’t think she even liked me, then. But she told me that no one deserves to be victimised for what they are. If you see someone hurting, you should always try to help if you can… a very good man, someone she admired, taught her that.”

There it was, again. River’s faith in the possibility of goodness. The Doctor cleared his throat self-consciously, his next words coming out softer than he’d intended.

“So. Friendship, then.”

“Yes. Because she might have been all the bad things I was told about her. But she didn't have to help me, and she chose to. And when she relaxed around me, I got to know who she really is, beyond the violence and the anger.

“River has a strength that’s impossible to ignore. A kindness that she keeps hidden… and I couldn’t hate her anymore, not completely.” Tasha shrugged: her hands opening in entreaty, her voice wistful. “I tried to be her friend after that.”

Damn those of the Church, thought the Doctor, his eyes narrowing as he realised what she was doing. Damn their soldiers for their ability to act superior even when they were in the wrong. Even without looking deliberately at the jury, he could feel their emotions. Pity, but for the wrong person. They felt sorry; but not for River. For Tasha… caught between unwilling friendship with the psychopath they were there to condemn and her family connections. A flash of temper made his tone sharp, although his next words were carelessly tossed out.

“I see. You tried to be her friend… even though you still reported back to your Mother and the Church about her movements.”

“Yes.”

“Even though you knew what they would one day make her do?”

“Yes.”

“That your faith and your Mother would make your friend kill the Doctor, and then die for the crime they trained her to commit; while you prospered?”

“ _Yes_.” Tasha’s eyes were red, her lips trembling. “I still tried.”

“Isn’t it nice,” commented the Doctor blandly, turning his face slightly toward the jury, “that during her life, River Song could depend on friends like that?

“Thank you, Mother Superior.” He permitted himself a small, wintery smile. “You may go.”

Tasha was on her feet to flee from the courtroom, almost before he’d finished his sentence. The jury was whispering amongst themselves, and the Doctor could hear a fragments of the comments. _That wasn't fair_ and _who could River ever trust?_ And finally, the words he was hoping for.

_I never thought I'd feel sorry for a murderer._

He glanced at River, immured behind glass, staring after Tasha's retreating figure. Sadness written all over her face, the grief that comes from betrayal of one of the few people she'd trusted in her life so far.

Her stoic demeanour finally cracked; and one tear rolled down River's cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was trying to prove that she was more than that, worthy of being granted leniency... and despite a certain softening of the jury’s faces as they looked at her, he wasn’t certain if he was succeeding.

Afterwards, he was sorry it had come to that. Demolishing Tasha in the witness box, hurting River... But the Doctor couldn't deny it had had the desired results. That tear was the first glimpse of the real River Song -flawed, complicated, amazing- that the jury had seen so far.

Jack strode into the TARDIS without knocking, shaking his head reprovingly and giving a low appreciative whistle.

“You nailed her.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor. “Isn't that how you convinced her to come here?”

“Doctor! She’s a paragon of virtue. Mother Superior of the Church…”

“I knew Tasha Lem a long time ago,” said the Doctor dismissively. “She’s not a paragon of anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack leered.

“Don’t start.”

“No promises.”

The Doctor paused, hands stilling on the TARDIS console. Much as he wanted to hate Tasha for her part in River's life, vague memories trickled back into the Doctor's mind. The sweets, faithfully delivered. Her very real repentance and steadfast insistence upon protection. Her kindness during the tedious years at Christmas.

“I had an unfair advantage in knowing her future self quite well,” he admitted. “What she didn’t admit on the stand is that she inherited her mother's insanity. The manic depression, the grandiose ideas, the dark violence and lack of compassion… But Tasha spent the later part of her life fighting against it, trying to be nothing like her.

“And one day,” said the Doctor, “she'll succeed. She'll develop enough of a conscience and sense of humility to become a true leader for the Church.”

Jack was smiling, but his eyes were serious as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“And today may have helped that?”

“Perhaps.” He hoped so. Rewrite a single line and you never know what it can save.

Jack shook his head. “Don't know how you do it, Doctor. Reform the most selfish of us until we have a love for humanity that rivals your own.”

He knew Jack was talking about himself; but for a moment all the Doctor could think of was River. Studying Gallifreyan history and searching for a good man; trying to become the River Song that the Doctor might love.

“Well,” said Jack finally. “That's in the future... or the past. For now, I needed to talk to you about a possible witness. After I brought Tasha home, I went back again to ask her to speak for River…”

“And?” prompted the Doctor.

“And she still won’t. I think that I’m not the right person to convince her. But I think that if you asked, she’d reconsider.”

The Doctor sighed. He had a feeling he knew who Jack had been planning to pull out of time to speak for River. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Not only seeing her again, but making the request himself… Some things were meant to stay in the past.

“No,” said the Doctor.

Jack crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow but not saying a word. The Doctor matched him, stare for stare. He could win this match of wills. Jack might be Jack, an impossible, one-of-a-kind fixed point; but _he_ was a Time Lord. Plus, he had twice the amount of eyebrow… but eventually the sad look in Jack’s eyes made the Doctor sigh brusquely, turning away.

“I can’t.” He was a different man now, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t still be painful.

Jack huffed out a sigh. “And what would River want?”

Low blow from the Captain. But the Doctor knew his wife. And this young, he fancied she would have agreed with him, if not for precisely the same reasons. So he didn't answer, as Jack sighed again.

“This regeneration, Doctor. Perhaps a bit crueller than you mean to be?”

 _Yes. Maybe._ His own doubts clouded his mind, for a moment. What sort of a man was he, these days?

“Why don’t you just tell me if the next witnesses are here yet?” He was fiddling with the paperwork, deliberately not looking up, but he could hear the suppressed irritation in Jack’s voice as he turned to leave.

“Of course they are. _I’m_ doing the best I can for River.”

“So am I,” the Doctor muttered; but Jack had already opened the doors of the TARDIS and disappeared outside before he could hear him.

* * *

Jack had outdone himself. The following hours had the witness box flooded with fellow classmates who had clearly idolised River, expounding upon her warmth and intelligence during the times they’d known her. A translator came in for the chap from Gyll -sixteen tentacles and non-verbal communication meant that humanoids would have a problem understanding him- to tell about how River had helped during his time with her at the Luna… protecting him from bullying and defending his choice to be a peaceful member from a martial society. She’d also accepted him onto her team for her first independent expedition; an act which had won him his first amount of recognition in the academic world of archaeology.

“River Song,” said the translator, eyes glued to the precise angles of the tentacles waving through the air, “gave me the chances that I’d hoped for when I went to University. She believes that what you are capable of is more important than what you look like. You are what you make of yourself, not what everyone expects of you.”

The prosecutor frowned. So far, cross-examination had given them nothing. Everyone was staunchly loyal to River… well, the Doctor thought, hiding a smile as court was dismissed for the day, so they would be. His wife did have the ability to inspire awe and affection… all the same, he wasn’t certain if he was winning. Her difficult past, her intelligence and compassion for those unable, or unwilling to protect themselves… yes, all that was important.

But this was her trial for killing the Doctor. He couldn’t argue away that fact; as far as history was concerned, it had happened. He was trying to prove that she was more than that, worthy of being granted leniency... and despite a certain softening of the jury’s faces as they looked at her, he wasn’t certain if he was succeeding.

He paused before walking into the visitation chamber, hearing the raised voices even from outside the closed door. River: intense and angry. Jack, defending himself.

“You need witnesses like those, River!”

“Why? What exactly do you think they’re proving?” said River. “I may be a murderer, but I’m also… _kind_.” She spit out the last word like an insult. “Yes, that’s exactly the sort of person worthy of being pardoned.”

“River, there is so much that's supposed to happen in your future-”

“Don’t start that again. I don’t have a future, past this trial.”

“Everyone has a future.” Jack sounded exasperated. “I think you’re really saying that you don’t think you deserve one.”

The Doctor heard the rasp of chains, and then his wife’s voice, dangerously low: “If you don’t stop saying things like that… You know what I’m on trial for, Jack. You know what I’m _capable_ of.”

There was a long pause, and then Jack began laughing so hard he snorted. “Kitten, I’m even harder to kill than the Doctor.”

“Stop calling me kitten.” More clinking. “And shut up!”

“He doesn’t shut up,” said the Doctor, finally striding into the chamber. He’d rather expected the sight that met his eyes: Jack in a headlock and River furious. Some things never changed. “Even if he should.”

River released Jack automatically at the sound of his voice, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him.

“Oh,” she said. “You, again?”

“Me,” he answered. “Of course. Where else would your defence be?”

“Having a drink and resigning yourself to certain defeat?”

“Pessimist,” said the Doctor.

“Realist,” River retorted.

“Archaeologists aren't realists,” he scoffed. “I think it's in the job description.”

His wife looked furious for a moment; and the Doctor grinned triumphantly before realising… It had felt so familiar -the jibes about her profession- that he'd forgotten she didn't recognise him now; and his comment must’ve simply felt like a taunt from a stranger.

“No need to have that face,” said the Doctor finally. “And no need to worry. Your case is fine.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack shrug, prudently moving away from River’s reach as she frowned.

“Really? I’m not sure which courtroom you were just in. But where I was, I saw a lot of people talking about how I had a difficult childhood, how I was such a good friend and an excellent student… but you’re forgetting I’m on trial for murder.”

“No,” said the Doctor. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then what are you trying to prove?”

“That you’re not… no one is just their actions.” The images swam through his mind of everything since leaving Trenzalore, the thrill and pain of new life flooding through his system. Clara’s terrified face through the bars, the impaled droid motionless and a dinosaur burning.

“You try to be a good person,” muttered the Doctor. “No matter what you must do.”

“Good people aren't murderers.” River was glaring at him, and suddenly, the Doctor’s anger was blazing, forcing him to snap back at her.

“Oh no? So then, the man you killed? Blameless his whole life, was he? Cuddly like a teddy bear?

“No.” He slapped his hand on the table in front of her, making both River and Jack jump in surprise. “You forget the stories, River. There was blood on his hands too-“

“Shut up.” River’s voice was soft, but no less frightening in intensity for that. “You don’t know anything about it. You could never understand what he was like.”

“A good man,” sneered the Doctor.

“Best man I’ve ever known.”

She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her gaze was on her hands, her lips pressed together mulishly; and the Doctor couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t say good bye. He walked out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Maybe River had it right after all. Best man she’d ever known, indeed. And maybe that’s why even with what he was doing for her trial, she didn’t recognise him; because he couldn’t understand what it was like, he wasn’t that man she’d chosen to save anymore.

There was a soft creak as the TARDIS doors opened, but the Doctor didn’t turn around until Jack cleared his throat.

“Should I even ask why you haven’t told her who you are?” The wry tone of his voice made it clear that Jack thought he was an idiot; and the Doctor glared. He would dearly have loved to punch the good Captain, right in the middle of his good-looking face.

“Did you think maybe there’s a reason she doesn’t recognise me?”

“You mean: besides the fact that the two of you were the points that shorted out time and she doesn’t know if she can trust her memories? She saved you, but she doesn’t remember doing it.”

“Who saves someone and doesn’t remember?”

Jack sighed. “I’ve changed my mind… this regeneration; maybe not cruel, but stupid? The person who sent me to help with the trial told to tell you something, if you asked that exact question.”

He leaned closer, blue eyes staring straight into the Doctor’s. “Gallifrey falls…”

“No more,” the Doctor answered automatically. Then his shoulders sagged as he stifled a groan.

Three of his previous regenerations had tried to save Gallifrey; but one ever knew he’d succeeded, even if the planet hovered tantalisingly out of reach afterwards.

“You and River are so much alike,” Jack said, still staring at the Doctor. “You’re willing to bend odds and force events to your will, if you think it’ll save what’s important.”

There were a lot of things the Doctor could have said. But in the end, he went with the simplest.

“I’m leaving,” he snapped. “Get out of my TARDIS.”

“Where are you going now?”

He had a wife to save and a witness that needed convincing; where did Jack think he was going? The Doctor scowled, choosing not to state the obvious and the other man nodded, a relieved smile breaking over his face.

“Glad you’ve seen the light. See you when you get back… and remember to get the timing right.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regeneration burned new pathways in the brain, filing away old memories to make room for the ones yet to be made… regardless, the Doctor remembered the coordinates as though he’d only used them yesterday. He put them in himself, but relied on the TARDIS to skirt timelines and possibilities until he found himself parked safely around the corner, his feet dragging on the pavement as he walked toward the familiar blue door. Never thought he'd be here again. The sheer smallness of the place choked him. Boxy houses and a lack of space and imagination.

Regeneration burned new pathways in the brain, filing away old memories to make room for the ones yet to be made… regardless, the Doctor remembered the coordinates as though he’d only used them yesterday. He put them in himself, but relied on the TARDIS to skirt timelines and possibilities until he found himself parked safely around the corner, his feet dragging on the pavement as he walked toward the familiar blue door. Never thought he'd be here again. The sheer smallness of the place choked him. Boxy houses and a lack of space and imagination.

He found himself holding his breath as he knocked. Maybe he'd gotten the timing wrong, after all. Maybe they would be at work…

But then the door flew open to reveal a tall, slender figure, her long red hair swinging around her face… and the Doctor's hearts stopped, just for a moment.

He was used to Amelia's expressions; even centuries couldn't erase them from his mind. The irritation and curiosity warring in her eyes, a slightly confused smile when she saw him… And he would never have admitted aloud how much it hurt not to see even the faintest hint of recognition.

 _A stranger_ , he reminded himself. To Clara, to his Ponds. To his wife, even.

“We're not buying anything,” Amy said finally, her voice firm and frank, the nuances utterly familiar. The Doctor bit back the smile that was threatening to creep over his lips. Finally; someone who sounded correct to his ears.

“I'm not selling anything,” he answered. “Look at me.” He waved his hand irritably, noting the suspicion as Amy stepped back slightly, wordlessly taking in his appearance before raising an eyebrow.

“We don't need to be converted either.”

“You don't- you think I-“ he sputtered, irritated with himself. Two thousand years old must have worked to make his brain slower, unable to formulate sentences.

“Well,” said Amy. “You told me to look at you? I looked.”

“And those were the answers you came up with?!”

They stared at each other for a moment, blue eyes into hazel before Amy gave a decisive nod.

“You're new here,” she declared.

“I don't live in the area.”

“But Scottish?”

“Obviously.”

She surveyed him thoughtfully for a moment before her entire face creased into a sudden, friendly grin.

“Oh, alright. You should come in. But wipe your feet; I'm not having you track who knows what into the house my husband just cleaned.” She turned and walked inside, leaving the Doctor feeling as though something in him had been evaluated and found acceptable as he quietly closed the door behind him.

Centuries since he'd been here, but it felt the same. Crowded. Cosy. Amy walking before him, bellowing in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Oi, Mister Pond! Ordering up breakfast for three!”

“I'm not Mister Pond,” Rory complained good-naturedly as he walked into the room, carrying laden plates in each hand. “Really doesn't work that way and… huh. I thought it was River dropping by, but… we have a guest?”

“We do,” said Amy, nodding.

“Oh,” said Rory, hurriedly wiping his hand on the ruffled apron he was wearing over his jeans.

“Hello…” He craned his head, studying the Doctor closely.

“Doctor?”

“Yup,” said Amy.

The Doctor spun around, seeing the Cheshire-cat smirk on Amy's face. “How did you know?”

“Spoilers.” She looked just like her daughter when she did that. Crossed arms and raised brow, the same mild expression and twinkling eyes.

“And I know why you’re here,” Amy said. “You want me to speak at her trial.”

So much for trying to get the jump on Pond. “If I ask nicely...“ wheedled the Doctor.

“I’ll still say no.”

“She’s your daughter.” He couldn’t help snapping at her, but Amy shrugged; the easy movement at odds with the unhappiness in her eyes.

“Look,” she said. “Just sit down… have breakfast with us and we’ll talk. Unless you eat something weird these days. Haggis? Please tell me you don’t have it with custard.”

His glare said it all in response to that statement. But he moved to the table, thumping his body down heavily onto his chair –always his chair, that had always been his place in the Pond dining room- and pulling his plate toward him. Amy exhaled slowly as she and Rory sat down; and for a few long moments there was only the scraping of forks on plates, the splash of tea being poured.

He wasn’t sure of the last time he’d eaten. Too busy with trial preparation… Which meant his last meal had been back at Christmas. A lifetime ago, literally.

The Doctor pushed his plate away after he had scraped it clean, refusing to think about how much better he felt, how much calmer. Rory was sipping his tea, Amy tearing a piece of toast into shreds. He wasn’t certain how much she had actually eaten; her plate looked nearly as full as it had when she’d sat down.

“Now,” he started to say; but Amy interrupted him.

“I can't speak for her,” Amy said slowly. “Even now, I get so angry when I think about it. Did I ever tell you that I killed Madame Kovarian in that other timeline?”

“No, but-“

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “River already told me what you’re going to say. Alternate timeline that never was. I’m not really a murderer.”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all,” said the Doctor. “Doesn’t matter to me if you are. Did River ever tell you what happened to Kovarian? In this world?”

Amy shook her head, but from the corner of his eye, he caught the expression on Rory’s face that said that he knew. Funny that River would have told him and not Amy… though the Doctor could imagine that the Last Centurion might have craved justice just as much as his wife, and would have needed to know the truth.

“After River’s trial, the Church excommunicated her.” He’d checked the facts just to be sure after Tasha testified. “Her daughter hated her for the part she’d played, the lives she’d destroyed; and never spoke to her again. Madame Kovarian died, alone and despised, cut off from everything she valued.”

There was a fierce look of pleasure on Amy’s face. “Good.”

“There is justice in it,” said the Doctor calmly. “A life for a life. A daughter for a daughter.

“Except that your daughter needs you now. Why won’t you testify, Amelia?”

“Because…” Amy’s eyes filled with tears. “Because I just can’t, okay? It’s been years, and I know River. I know who she became. But I still can’t get over the fact that they made my daughter into a—“ She stopped abruptly, fighting to calm down.

“I don’t know if she would always have inherited my temper,” Amy muttered. “My bad temper. No self-control. But they made it worse. They gave my daughter the ability to be a killer. A monster. What can I say on the stand? They’ll ask what sort of person she is-”

“And you’d say that she’s our daughter,” Rory said suddenly. “She does what she wants, but she’s smart and amazing and independent and can take care of herself, and anyone who needs help.

“And, well, you know. You're not that bad.”

“Aren't I?” Amy arched an eyebrow at her husband, who flushed under her scrutiny.

“A little wild sometimes.”

She bared her teeth at him in a flirtatious growl. The Doctor fought back a growl of his own, for entirely different reasons.

“She survived what would have killed almost anyone else,” continued Rory. “And in the end, it only made her a better person than she might have been. How can you know who you are, unless you’re tested? They may have trained her to be a killer; but my daughter has enough compassion not to kill indiscriminately. And then, only when necessary.”

The Doctor shifted in his seat, looking between the Ponds. He had come there wanting Amy to speak on behalf of her daughter. But it was Rory he looked at now; who met his eyes, nodding.

“Yes,” he said decisively. “If I’ll do, then of course. I'll testify for River.”

* * *

It felt strange for the Doctor to have the Ponds back in the TARDIS, hundreds of years after New York. And even though they must have been still traveling sporadically with his younger self, this trip was clearly strange for them too. Their surprised expressions as they walked into the TARDIS... he’d forgotten that they'd never been there after he'd changed the desktop, but it only took one look at Amy's unimpressed face and curled lip to remind him. Surprisingly, she didn't ask... probably because she knew that Mister Pond would be the one to state the obvious.

“So you’ve redecorated? It’s really…uhh...” Rory was struggling to find a good description. “Grey?”

“Metallic,” Amy volunteered helpfully.

“I have eyes,” said the Doctor shortly. “I know what colour it is.”

“Well, it's a change? And it's a bit...” Rory tried to smile. “I think it needs more light. Can’t you have-”

“Windows?” asked the Doctor, staring at him.

“Err…no. Guess not?” Rory looked embarrassed, likely thinking of the implication of drilling holes in a ship traveling through space and time.

“Maybe we can buy you a lamp?” he offered finally. Amy snorted in amusement.

“A lamp wouldn't last too long here. I bet it would be sliding all over the floor, especially with the way that he drives.”

“Forgot about that.” Rory’s brow furrowed as he looked around. “Maybe some sconces?”

The Doctor's hands stilled on the controls as he prepared to land the TARDIS back at the courtroom and considered Rory's suggestion.

“I could do that,” he mused. “Not sconces. Too much like church. Maybe round things... Always liked the round things. Lighted round things?”

There was a crash as Rory knocked over a stack of books. Amy sighed.

“Round, square, whatever,” she announced. “Just get more light in here. And maybe a bookshelf to hold all that.” She waved a hand toward the books Rory was picking up from the floor. “Did you always used to have those lying around? I don't remember them... what happened to your library, anyway?”

He'd deleted it, after the Ponds left. The reminder that there was another Library in his future, more people to lose… even the word hurt back then.

The Doctor shrugged carelessly. “Pool flooded.”

“I see,” said Amy slowly. “And you read a lot these days, do you?”

“It's something to do.”

“Hmm.” She fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Traveling alone, then.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Not always.”

"Enough, though.” She had that sound in her voice. Brisk Pond-ness to hide the worrying. “Is that why you regenerated so...”

“Scottish?” Rory put in.

“I was going to say grumpy,” Amy answered.

Rory mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like takes one to know one and the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief that the conversation could be over as he landed them (perfect landing outside the visitation chamber, thus proving that when it came to her child the TARDIS' abilities were impeccable).

“We're here,” he announced. “River should probably already in there, waiting to be escorted into the courtroom.”

Amy was already breezing through the door -Rory right behind her- before he could think to warn them what they would be facing. A very young River Song. A very subdued River Song; an anomaly he was sure they'd never seen before...which, clearly, they hadn't. He followed them only to discover that the Ponds had stopped just inside the door, staring at the chains on their daughter's wrists and ankles and her miserable expression.

The room was dead silent, heavy with tension. River's eyes were wide as her gaze darted between her parents, her fingers clenched together on the table; but she didn't say anything for a few long moments.

And then she dropped her eyes down, her words finally emerging as a hoarse whisper.

“You shouldn't be so shocked. You did always say I'd end up in jail one day.”

It was probably good she wasn't looking up to see either of the Ponds wince at that statement. But the Doctor was proud of them. As one, they moved toward her, pulling their daughter into a fierce hug.

“At least you didn't steal a bus.” Rory's voice was calm as he patted her shoulder, and River gave a muffled giggle.

“You'll never forget that, will you?”

“No one in Leadworth will ever forget that,” Amy said. She wasn't as steady as Rory; her voice wavered on the last word. The Doctor frowned. It was no good if Pond couldn't control her own vocal cords; if he could hear that hitch in her voice, so could River... and obviously she had, because she twitched slightly, pulling away from them.

“I've missed you both,” she admitted softly, “and I'm glad you've come to say goodbye... though, how are you here? This isn't even your time.”

“Someone persuaded us to take a trip,” said Amy. Her slim, pale hands fluttered around River; smoothing back curls, stroking her cheek the way you would a distressed child. “And don't be dramatic; it's not goodbye.”

“Not yet,” River muttered ominously. “Just wait until the trial resumes.” She looked across the room, only then noticing the Doctor still lurking in the doorway, reluctant to intrude.

“Let’s not talk about that now.” River straightened up, an insouciant smile on her face. “Have you met my new defense attorney? Another one who thinks he can control the world.”

“Of course we've met,” Amy said. “He brought us here.”

River's smile slipped before she visibly fought for control.

“But I thought... no,” she corrected herself. “Of course not, he couldn't.”

“Who couldn't what?”

“The Doctor. I thought he'd have brought you, but of course he can't.”

Rory looked confused. “Why not?”

“Because, Daddy dear, I killed him. Remember?” She sing-songed the words, an expression of bitterness and self-loathing in her green eyes.

“But…” Amy’s voice petered off, as she was obviously reluctant to blurt out the truth: _he's standing in front of you, don't you know?_ Rare to see Amelia Pond at a loss for words. Her eyes were open wide -her mouth gaping unattractively. Rory’s eyes flickered back and forth between the Doctor and his daughter as though he was watching a tennis match.

“Not to interfere in family time,” said the Doctor quickly, hoping they would both get the message to shut up until he could explain. “But I brought them here to speak for you. Character witnesses.”

River frowned, seeming to draw back into herself. “And if I said I don't want them here?”

“Not your choice,” Amy interrupted. She seized River's hand, leaning over to look into her eyes. “It's ours. We're your parents-“

“Parents of a felon,” River said flatly.

“Un-convicted,” Rory said mildly, taking River's other hand.

“For now.” Her frown deepened; but the Doctor noticed she didn't pull her hands away. “I didn't want you to see me like this.”

“Well,” said Rory. “It's not like it's a surprise, River. Time travel... We know what happens.”

“Oh.” All at once, she seemed to deflate. “Of course.

“I'm still surprised you're here.” Her head ducked down, almost obscuring her next words. “I can't imagine that watching your daughter be executed is on every parents' to do list.”

The Ponds exchanged a confused look.

“You won't be executed,” Amy said finally. “You won't die...” That last comment was to the Doctor, as her eyes slid hastily to his face.

“Not if I can help it,” he said gruffly in reply. “Not here. Not now.”

“Time to go.” The worst possible moment for an interruption. The guard rapped on the door, and River promptly stood to leave, somehow managing to slip out the room instantly and avoid either of her parents hugging her again. And when she was gone, the Doctor looked up to see two sets of worried, accusing eyes watching him.

“You didn't tell us those were the stakes,” Amy accused. Her eyes were bright and almost flashing, and the Doctor couldn't tell if it was from grief or anger.

“That's why she needed you here,” he answered. “That's why it was important.”

“Don’t screw up,” Rory warned.

He hoped he wouldn't; and his own worry made his temper snap.

“As always, Rory, I knew I could count on you for a vote of confidence.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a different tactic having Rory on the stand than the previous witnesses. He didn't need to bait him. Just lead his testimony -gently, imperceptibly- so that Rory would talk freely about the River Song that the Ponds knew.

It was a different tactic having Rory on the stand than the previous witnesses. He didn't need to bait him. Just lead his testimony -gently, imperceptibly- so that Rory would talk freely about the River Song that the Ponds knew. The difficult part was the phrasing… using the right words to elicit answers descriptive enough for the jury, while remaining vague enough that River wouldn't get too many spoilers about her own future. Despite her uninterested expression, there was a spark in his wife’s eyes that told the Doctor she was listening closely, committing Rory’s words to memory for reference on what could happen in her future.

River Song. Always too infernally clever; and he loved that.

So he started with innocuous questions about Amy's pregnancy and Melody's birth; the earliest experiences of fatherhood which the Church had stolen from Rory. And then the long days after Demon's Run as the Ponds cycled between shock and anger, mired in grief and hopelessness before Berlin.

The Doctor frowned, looking at Rory’s implacably calm face. The Last Centurion: watching, waiting, protecting. He’d never thought - well, he had thought – but never realised just how deeply Rory had felt the pain of not being able to protect the family he loved.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if you'd figured everything out earlier,” said the Doctor, his anger with himself making his voice emerge clipped and gruff. “They planned too well; and they didn’t care whose lives they ruined, as long as the Doctor was included.”

Stupid of him to have ignored that, to think he could dazzle his Ponds with adventure and excitement; all so they wouldn't think of how much he owed them. And today, years later, an imperceptible nod was the only acknowledgement of his words. Understanding from Rory now, but not necessarily forgiveness.

Fair enough. The Doctor didn't think he deserved it anyway.

"What can you tell me about Mels Zucker?" he asked suddenly. Rory blinked in surprise at the question, before he gave a very rueful smile.

“I could tell you,” said Rory, “that Mels was the kid your parents warn you about. She did the craziest things; and you never knew what she was going to say, but ten to one, it would be something funny or scandalous.”

“Usually both,” muttered someone from the back of the room, the Scottish inflections immediately identifying her to the Doctor’s ear as Amy. There was a murmur of laughter around the court, breaking the sombre mood everyone had been in.

“She was always in trouble. She took risks no one else would. She was crazy and unpredictable... but she was loyal.” Rory shook his head, his rueful smile breaking into a grin. “Mels was really loyal to the people she loved. She'd do anything for them.”

“Such as?” the Doctor prompted.

“Well... she ran away when we were thirteen. No one could find her for two days. And then it turned out that she'd hitchhiked into London to find Amy this necklace she wanted for a birthday present. And when I was studying to become a nurse, she would call me every night. Demand that I tell her what I'd learned, quiz me until I could repeat everything without hesitating.

“Even after she left Leadworth, I knew I could always count on Mels, checking in on me. She's why I passed my exams.”

“She sounds like a good friend,” said the Doctor.

“She was our best friend,” Rory said staunchly. “You couldn't always understand her, why she did the things she did. Sometimes I even believed that she never cared about right or wrong... but I was wrong for thinking that. She always cares. And she always tries to do what's right.”

Rory glanced up at River; and despite all the other people in the room, the warm smile on his face seemed to be only for her.

“I guess,” he said, addressing the courtroom although his eyes never left his daughter, “that you know that Mels Zucker is just another name that River used in the past. And... uh... Well, if you didn't know that, you do now.

“I know that you look at her and think: oh, she's on trial for an unspeakable crime. And I know you might say I'm her Dad, I have to say good things about her.”

There was a sound from the back of the courtroom. Even without turning around, the Doctor could tell it was Amy Pond, giving something between an exasperated sigh and an amused chuckle because her husband was close to roaming off topic. Rory and River had obviously heard it too; because they exchanged understanding smiles, their eyes flickering to where Amy sat.

“Yeah,” said Rory. “Sorry. You know all that. I just want to tell you that she's different, my daughter. You can't understand why she does things sometimes, but there's so much in her that's good. No matter what, even if her actions are against the laws of humanity, she’ll do it to help the people she loves.

“So maybe,” Rory turned away from his daughter, effortlessly meeting the eyes of everyone on the jury, “the question you shouldn't be asking here is if she killed the Doctor. You should be asking why she felt she had to.”

* * *

He waited outside the door, reluctant to interfere. Inside the visitation room, River sat between her parents with Amy and Rory each holding a hand; as though they were afraid to let go of her, even for a moment.

“Thank you,” River murmured, unaware of the Doctor hiding behind the door, silently watching them. “For your testimony, even though I don't know if it will help. And for...” he heard her sigh, “for being here at all.”

“Don't be stupid,” Amy said briskly. “You don't thank us for things like that.”

“Mummy dear, I'm only saying-“

“We know what you're saying,” Rory interjected. “And all Amy is saying is, it's not necessary.”

“We owe you,” Amy burst out. “You shouldn't thank us because if we'd been better parents, maybe none of this would've happened at all.”

“Fixed points,” River murmured. “Always going to happen.”

“Stop it about fixed points, you sound like the Doctor.” Amy sounded perilously close to tears. “ _Fine._ You are our daughter, River. And we love you. And because of that - I mean - do you really think the people who love you would abandon you? If they had any way to even try to save you?”

The Doctor winced. Amy's words hadn't been meant for him. Yet... he loved his wife and had abandoned her. Left like a book on the shelf... River's own words all those years ago on Trenzalore. Cropping up in his memory every so often to remind him that a good man would never have done such a thing. A good man would have found a way to save her, long before this.

He peeked through the doorway to see River; her face serious, but the flicker of emotion behind her eyes betraying her thoughts. The anguish and remorse there made his hearts ache.

“Can I ask you something?” River asked in a small voice. “I don't know if you can tell me - if it's spoilers... But I was wondering what either of you really remember from Lake Silencio.”

She looked reluctant even to make the request; and the Doctor was certain it didn't help that both the Ponds were staring at her in confusion.

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Rory said cautiously. "What we remember? What do you remember?"

"Well," said River. "It's a bit of a blur. I remember the beach. And I remember the alternate timeline... vaguely. The memories slide away when I focus on them. Time rewriting itself, I suppose; with the Doctor and I as opposite points of distortion."

Rory looked at Amy. She looked at him, then down at her hands. Neither of them said anything. River watched them both carefully before shrugging, forcing a smile onto her face.

"Never mind," she declared. "It was foolish to ask. I only thought when you came here - and then saying the people who love me would never abandon me... I wondered if he had anything to do with it. The Doctor," she clarified, as though it hadn't been obvious. "If he was planning to come swaggering in here at the last moment, saying this was all a joke...

"Never mind," River said again. "I'm being stupid. Prison food will do that to you."

"Prison food breaks your spirit," said the Doctor, finally walking into the room. "Doesn't do a thing to lower your mental capacity."

"Oh," said River. "I think my solicitor just insulted me."

"No," answered the Doctor. "It was a compliment."

"That my lowered brain function is natural and not a reaction to being bored during this trial?"

"I think," Rory said, his brows drawing together, "that was an insult to your parents."

"No," the Doctor grumbled. "Your daughter is just being ridiculous. No insults. She's brilliant. Amazing, even on a prison diet."

The room was quiet. River was staring at him, her eyes wide before she shook her head, a faint smirk on her face.

"My solicitor. Such a liar..."

"I'd watch your tongue if I were you, lass. And don't," warned the Doctor, guessing what her next action might be, "stick it out at me."

"Please," Rory mumbled. "As your parents, we really don't need to see that. You playing some sort of -tongue game- with him."

River made a face. "I doubt that would ever happen."

Amy snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Amelia," the Doctor said in a low voice. She stared at him for a moment, confused... but then her eyes narrowed. Her hands clenched into fists.

"I think it's time for you and me to have a little talk," Amy declared. "About some things you've holding back...?"

He should have known she would bring it up, why River didn't know him... and he didn't want to get into it.

“All I have to tell you is that time lines have to be preserved," muttered the Doctor.

But he should have known that argument wouldn't work on a Pond. Especially Amelia. A timey-wimey life, cracks in her wall, a husband who remembered being plastic and both of them growing up alongside their daughter. Timelines and impossibilities were relative to her.

Amy glared, her foot tapping impatiently. The Doctor sighed. He was two thousand years old and his mother-in-law could still give him grief about how he treated her daughter.

“Later,” said the Doctor. “We'll talk about it later. Or not. Don't you think a better topic is the next witness in your daughter's trial?”

Amy subsided into grumpy silence, and Rory reached over to take both his wife and daughter's hands in his.

“Who are you planning on producing next?” he asked. The Doctor managed to smile with more confidence than he felt, suddenly feeling rather proud. His involvement in the trial had been unexpected, and he’d had a frantic scramble for a plan… but now, he had one. Rory’s final statement had proven the perfect segue. 

“You,” he said simply, raising his hand to point one long finger at his wife. “Last witness for the defence. I think it's about time for you to tell everyone what really happened, River. All of it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Knowing River as he did, the Doctor supposed he shouldn't have been shocked by her pursed lips, the untrusting expression in her eyes. But he had a plan; he always, eventually, had a plan. There had been one on Lake Silencio, and on the pyramid… must she always fight him?

“No.” She shook her head, spitting out the word like a curse.

Yes, apparently she must. “Don’t be stupid,” snapped the Doctor. 

River glared at him, her hands clenched into fists. “Don’t presume to tell me what to do.”

“I’m your-“

“You’re an idiot.” The words were flat, delivered without the spark of teasing that had always accompanied them.

“I don’t think this is getting us anywhere,” Rory said reasonably. “River, why won’t you testify?”

“Because I don't choose to.”

Amy looked at Rory - he shrugged - they both glanced at their daughter; before turning to the Doctor, wearing mirrored expressions of worry and dismay that made his hearts ache.

“What could be simpler?” Rory offered. “He’ll call you to the stand, you tell your story-“

“This isn’t a fairy tale.” Her tone was harsh, but it was the brittle laughter accompanying her words that felt like a slap. “Don't you realise, that's all the jury will think it is? A _story_. A desperate woman trying to avoid a death sentence and making things up. There’s no happy ending waiting for me.”

“But it’s the truth!” Amy burst out. “They could believe you! Why wouldn't they?”

“Because it's a murder trial, Mother. It's my word against a dead body that doesn't even exist anymore. The prosecution has told the jury that I was born and trained for one purpose... would you find it likely that at Lake Silencio I suddenly changed my mind?”

“Stranger things have happened,” murmured Rory. River's lips twisted into a wry smile.

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But they're hardly going to look for another shooter in the depository. The evidence points to me. I had the training, the motive. They know I must be guilty.”

“And what do you know?” asked the Doctor. The Ponds all turned to look at him. Amy, stubborn and tearful; Rory, calm and yet pleading.

And River, her eyes suddenly narrowed in anger. He'd almost forgotten she was like that, this young. Temper sparking, flaring out. Later she'd learn to control it so that it seethed beneath the surface, balancing her and giving her strength; but not yet.

“What a solicitor,” River said in a low voice, not answering his question. “You swept in here and took over; you thought you'd do a better job than my previous council. You talked about character witnesses to change the jury's mind and reduce my sentence... as though it would all be so easy.”

“I never said it would be easy.”

“The devil is in the details; but let's leave him out of this. You've had your witnesses. What's changed for you to say you need my testimony now?”

She was watching him carefully, her words like a challenge thrown out between them. Familiar, in a way. Facing down danger, back against the wall, and his wife demanding that he find a plan, figure it out; stop being emotional and think, damn it...

The Doctor bit the inside of his cheek. She had always been too infernally clever. Of course she'd spotted the flaws in his plan early on. The character witnesses had been important. The woman on trial was more than her actions; he thought they'd done an adequate job of showing that so far.

But they weren't enough. She was on trial for murder, as she said. Softening of the jury aside, what would always have eventually been needed were facts... the ones he knew, and that River had done... if he could make her admit what was lurking inside her vague memories.

“Because,” he answered, “there are only two people who know the whole story about what really happened there. You and him...”

He realised, as he said it, that he'd chosen the wrong words. River flashed a brief smile at him, bitter and self-mocking.

“And the Doctor certainly can't talk now, can he?”

He could… but he shouldn't. Wouldn’t. That moment of pause as he struggled to answer was all it took for River's face to grow closed and shuttered, her eyes cold.

“There's nothing more to say. _This_ ,” she emphasised the word, “is a fixed point. The Doctor dying, my being here on trial. Nothing I say can change it. As far as the facts go, I stood on a beach and shot the Doctor twice in rapid succession, so he couldn't regenerate.”

“That’s not the full story, River.”

“It will be for them. And the truth is, that's not really what this trial is about. I didn't just kill a man; I killed the hope of what he stood for. And even if judge and jury didn't want to convict me for _that_ , then they will argue genocide. I killed the last surviving member of an ancient race.”

“He killed the rest,” muttered the Doctor, almost to himself. “As far as the facts go.”

River leaned forward. He could see the rage in her, rising to the surface again. “Then maybe we all get what we deserve.”

“But this _isn't_ what you deserve...” Amy's voice was very small and pleading; and suddenly the Doctor could see the little part of River that shattered at hearing her mother sound like that. Anger gone, she sighed, pushing her curls back behind her ears.

“Amy, I'm - I'd say that I'm sorry for disappointing you...”

“But you're not,” the Doctor cut in. “If you were, you'd testify. Come on,” he glanced at his Ponds, “let's go. Nothing more to say here.”

Rory took one step toward him, but Amy shook her head, refusing to move.

“You promised,” she whispered. “You promised you'd save my daughter-“

He had. Again and again and again… but his vague plan was falling to pieces – his wife was being ridiculous - and suddenly he was angry that he couldn’t think of anything better (a good man, really? A good man would have thought all this through)… and his next words were tossed out with enough vehemence to sting.

“Maybe I could if your daughter wasn't being... _this_. Choosing not to fight, but to mourn the best man she's ever known -one who told her she was forgiven, always and completely- with her own death. Your daughter is the most stubborn woman I've ever met, and I can't do anything for her unless she wants to compromise. Meet me halfway.

“But she thinks this is what she deserves. A death sentence? Fine. Let's go.” Amy still wasn't moving, so he reached out to grab her arm, physically pulling her away.

“Come _along_ , Pond.”

Amy stumbled in his wake; and River watched them leave, silently. There was something in her eyes, something calculated and considering. But she didn't say a word as the door closed behind them. No one said anything until Rory cleared his throat, brows raised.

“Right, that went badly.”

“Could hardly have gone worse,” admitted the Doctor. “Come on.”

“You're taking us home?” asked Rory.

“No. There's a cafe next door. I think we could use some tea. Maybe a coffee.”

Minutes later, they were all seated around a small round table. Amy still hadn't spoken. She was scowling, obviously struggling with some deep internal thoughts, and Rory's face was screwed up in confusion.

“I still don't understand why she won't testify,” said Rory tentatively. “I know she said she doesn't quite remember... but isn't saying that better than nothing at all?”

“She's stubborn,” Amy said, picking up her tea, but still not taking a sip. “You know, you could've tried harder to convince her.”

“Amy, if she wouldn't agree for you, what makes you think that I could-“

“No,” interrupted Amy. “Not you. Him.” She raised her head to glare at the Doctor until he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I tried,” he answered shortly. “How do you think I should convince her? She's your daughter... did you ever make her of anything she didn't want to do?”

“Yeah, but we're her parents and you're... you.” Amy sighed, setting her tea down. There was the slightest nostalgic smile on her face.

“All you used to have to do was grin at her and twiddle your bow tie... speaking of, Raggedy man?”

“I'm not raggedy,” the Doctor said. “Nice and neat, Amelia. I'm wearing a suit.”

“Right,” she drawled, her lips twisted disdainfully. “That's what you call that? And I didn't think anything could be worse than what you used to wear. What is all that?”

The Doctor touched his neck reflexively, still half-expecting to feel a bow tie and realised he had never changed after Victorian London. More important things on his mind than a stiff collar and unfashionable garments.

“Got it from a droid,” he muttered.

“What?”

“It's a long story,” said the Doctor. “But trust me. It's better than a coat from a Victorian tramp. Less smell.”

“You sure about that?” Rory interjected dubiously. “You're a bit...fragrant.”

Mr Pond may have been right. There was a smell around that he'd been ignoring. Those droids had been preserved with no need for natural bodily functions, but still...

“I've been busy,” said the Doctor, not admitting anything. “Fair bit of work, putting together a trial.”

“So busy you couldn't even change your clothes when you went to defend River?”

“ _She_ didn't complain.”

“ _She's_ barely talking to you,” Amy snapped, “and when she does, she's just angry.”

True, all too true; but the Doctor glared at Rory, then Amy, daring them to say anything further.

“My clothes aren't the issue. The important point here is that she won't take the stand. I can't force her. Your fault, Pond.” He turned to Amy. “Your fault she's so stubborn.”

“Yeah, maybe that's my fault,” Amy countered. “But I remember how you two are together, and if you'd just talk to her... She doesn't seem to know who you are, and you're acting like you're not even her husband anymore...”

“Regeneration,” said the Doctor shortly. “It changes people... I'm not the man all of you remember.”

The Ponds were quiet. Once the Doctor might have twitched or fidgeted under their scrutiny; but now he stayed completely still. Unblinking. Unfeeling.

“River was right,” Amy finally burst out. “Her solicitor... such a liar.”

He stared at her, and she glared right back.

“So...” She was obviously trying to sound casual. “How long have you been traveling alone?”

(Not long, truthfully. There had been very little traveling done while he was on Trenzalore. The better question was simply how long he'd been alone.)

“I see,” Amy said when he didn't answer fast enough to suit her. “Long enough. Where's your companion?”

“Not here,” said the Doctor.

“Obviously, you numpty. But where is she?”

There was a very tense silence that seemed to stretch for years. It seemed like it had been a long time since he thought of Clara. But he wondered suddenly how she was. Vastra would take care of her, of course. And she must know he'd return for her. Eventually…

Without a warning, something pale shot out at his face, rocking his head to the side. The Doctor clutched his cheek, staring in surprise at Amy.

“You're an idiot,” she snapped.

“Amy…” Rory had been staying quiet, but he gave his wife a warning look. “That might not have been the best thing to do…”

“No, it was. Usually it's River who slaps sense into him, but if she can't-“

“Then it's up to Mummy Pond?” The Doctor asked sarcastically.

“That's right.”

He fought the urge to groan. All those years at Christmas, all the reliving old stories and adventures. He'd _missed_ Amelia Pond. Though, perhaps not her temper.

“Right, so I'm going to tell you how things are going to go. First thing? Go shower. You smell…” Her nose wrinkled. “Let's just say: bad. Second thing, go get your companion. Go do something. Go save someone and remember what that feels like.”

“River-“

“I can't believe I'm going to say this,” Amy said, closing her eyes. “But River can wait. No, you've got a time machine. Just don't be late getting back.

“I think you need this,” she urged. “She needs you; the real you. And you're trying to blame all this on regeneration, but I think you need to stop it, remember what sort of man you really are.”

His lip curled. “A good man?”

Amy shrugged, trying to smile. “Best one that we all know. Seems _that’s_ what regeneration changed, Doctor. It’s too bad you don’t believe in yourself, anymore.”

He grumbled and set out a few cursory complaints, but he knew. He’d had… oh, a few hours of being Scottish. Amy had had a lifetime. Besides, it was always easier to agree with Pond than to argue with her… and the Doctor eventually left them behind at the court with Jack (sparing a moment to grin at Rory's discomfort, seeing Amy and Jack trying to out-flirt each other) before heading into the TARDIS, shedding his Victorian clothes and climbing into the shower.

As though the TARDIS had anticipated his needs, the water was scalding as he idly soaped down his limbs and scrubbed shampoo through his hair. The heat was refreshing, purifying. Cleaning off the old to reveal the new. He emerged, pale and dripping, towel wrapped around his hips to stare at himself in the mirror.

“Suppose I've had worse,” the Doctor said aloud, turning his face to each side and scrutinizing his profile. “Always lose the lottery when it comes to ears. Overcompensated on the eyebrows this go. He tried smiling, instantly stopping after a moment.

“Don't think I do that anymore.”

There was nothing to be gained from a longer look in at his reflection. Clothing, then. So many options in the wardrobe, and nothing seemed right. Racks of long woolly scarves and white cricketing jumpers, suits of brown and blue. A veritable wealth of brocaded waistcoats and silk cravats; he wasn't sure what he'd been thinking of with those.

The Doctor's hand hovered for a moment on a velvet jacket of a rich burgundy; and he stood, considering it as he pleated the soft nap between his fingers. It took a certain sort of man to wear velvet, and he didn't think he was it. Not yet, at least... so with a muffled: “maybe later” he moved onward.

Everything seemed incorrect for who he was now. Too dark or too bright. Too sombre or too obnoxious. In the end he settled on plain trousers and a white shirt, dark waistcoat. Simple staples; you couldn't go wrong with those. Boots, heavy and sturdy. A dark jacket, lean and austere with a hidden scarlet lining. A reminder -if one chose to think that way- that the outside doesn't have to indicate the inside. There are hidden depths in everyone, everything.

“Right,” he said aloud. “All dressed and ready to retrieve Clara. Go save someone, do something to remind me of who I am.”

Except who was he? Jack and the Ponds had looked at him to see the man he used to be, and his wife didn't recognise him. Perhaps River was the most correct of them all, because he still looked in the mirror and saw a stranger; not her husband at all.

Thoughtfully, he rummaged in a box hidden within the console. One last item to put on; a gift from long ago, for a man who never felt completely comfortable with it or its implications.

But now... the Doctor flexed his wrist, twisting his hand to survey the TARDIS lights gleam off the green gem and gold bands on his ring finger. It felt right, suddenly. _He_ felt right, better than he had since regeneration. 

It was time to face facts. His old self was gone; that enthusiastic, youthful face had given way to age and austerity, wrinkles and experience. He had learned in those long years at Christmas how to stand still, to appreciate what had been lost to him through the passage of time.

And he learned that there was so much to atone for. So much to make right: Gallifrey, his wife. And a new regeneration cycle to do it in.

“All dressed,” he repeated, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. “And time to see what sort of man I could be.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would have been easier if River had been willing to testify. It would have been easier if she’d been willing to admit her shadowed memories… it would have been easier on his state of mind if she’d even realised who he was. The Doctor. Her husband; and he would never let her down. Not now. Not anymore.

“I’ve lived for two thousand years, and not all of them were good,” he’d told Clara. “I’ve made many mistakes, and it’s about time I did something about that.”

He’d half-expected her to ask: what mistakes? And if she _had_ asked, he would have stopped hiding the truth and told her. They weighed on him: the deaths on his hands; the blood that wouldn't wash clean despite a new regeneration cycle that he had neither sought, not expected. The people he'd hurt, the lives unsaved. He might even have mentioned Gallifrey, lost in time and deliberately not searched for by his previous self.

But she hadn't asked. She’d answered her phone (and he fought the urge to smack his forehead, realising that _of course_ , he should have remembered. He’d already been there when he spoke to her, he’d heard himself on the phone; so her behaviour post-regeneration was now completely understandable) and she said good-bye to the man he had been.

And then she hugged; which only let him hide that much more.

“So now you can see me,” he mumbled. Clara nodded, her eyes bright with a forced enthusiasm.

“Again, thanks for calling.”

“I did think you'd get the message sooner…”

“Are you… you're not actually blaming me?” There was a small crease between her eyebrows. “Because you got the timing wrong and called me later than you'd meant to?”

He scowled. “Blame the dying man, then?”

“Well,” she shrugged, “more convenient. That way our consciences are both clear. It was him trying to do the right thing and making a mistake.”

He knew she'd meant it to be funny, but somehow, the Doctor couldn't see any amount of humour in her statement.

“He did that,” he muttered to himself. “Made mistakes and wasn't able to put them right. Left people to wait on him.”

“Oh,” Clara said, finally seeming to realise that despite regeneration, they were still criticising the man currently next to her. She stopped walking, peering earnestly up at him.

“Don't be so hard on yourself. You were dying… and it's not like you did that all the time. Run away, or not fix problems. You were a really good man, Doctor.”

Were, not are. Past, not present. His hearts hurt, every beat hurt; and despite being newly regenerated, the Doctor felt so very exhausted. Amy had said it: go get your companion. Remember how it feels to be the Doctor again. New clothes, new face, and he could finally feel the old stirrings of himself resurfacing. But if his companion – _this_ companion, his impossible girl who had seen every version of him- still didn’t know…

“And who am I now?” he asked gruffly. Clara blinked in confusion.

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the Doctor,” she said, slipping one hand into his, giving it a quick squeeze. “My Doctor: the one who has my back, the one who always returns, the one who saves people…

“And,” she continued triumphantly, pulling out her wallet, “the one who never has money in his pockets so is relegated to be the one to fetch.”

“I’m not a dog,” grumbled the Doctor.

“Woof,” Clara responded, grinning. “Here’s a tenner. Go get us a coffee; I’ll wait here.”

She pressed the money into his palm and sat down on a nearby bench, pulling out her phone to check messages. The Doctor stood, watching her for a moment and thinking.

He was the Doctor. Enough so she could see him now, properly see him… and as far as Pond would be concerned, he’d done one thing from her list. She’d said to go get his companion, and he had. And while the Doctor had a feeling the right thing to do now would be to bring coffee for Clara, have a chat and find out to how she’d fared in Victorian London with their friends… he didn’t want to. Couldn’t stand the thought of sitting still and pretending to be interested, doing the listening thing… he wasn’t really certain how well he listened these days. (Talking; he’d always been far better at talking. Some things wouldn’t change.)

Besides, it wasn’t Clara’s face in his mind, when he closed his eyes. _Save someone_ : Amy’s second command. The Doctor flexed his fingers, feeling his new rings weighing down his hand. A reminder of who he was, now. Of what was owed.

“Still here?” Clara called. “Get moving!”

“Right,” he answered. “Coffee. There’s a little café I was just at, I’ll go there. And then I’ll be back for you…

“Eventually,” he finished beneath his breath, closing the TARDIS doors. “One place to go first.”

* * *

The Doctor strode out of his ship to feel something immediately hit the back of his head, hard enough to make him stagger forward.

“Amy,” Rory groaned from somewhere behind him. “You should really stop doing that.”

“What; hitting him? You think I’m going to jar something loose in there? Maybe it’ll be what he needs to remind him to stop-“ _whack_ “being-“ _thunk_ “late!”

He managed to duck and evade Amy’s last blow, then turned to see her glowering at him, one foot tapping.

“I came back,” muttered the Doctor, rubbing the back of his head. He would never admit it, but Amy slapped harder than her daughter. All force and no finesse, though.

“You always come back,” she continued, “but do you ever think to check a clock? Or a calendar?”

“What Amy means,” Jack interrupted her with a quelling look, “is that you almost missed closing statements. We were able to put in the motion in your absence that there were no more defence witnesses… and I’m sorry. We tried to convince her, but she still refused…”

“I thought so,” said the Doctor, shrugging. “I’m not surprised. No one can convince my wife for anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Jack grinned, abruptly. “You sound proud of that fact.”

“She wouldn’t be my River if she could be,” said the Doctor. He found himself smiling soppily without meaning to; and stopped immediately when he noticed Jack, Amy and Rory exchanging amused glances.

“So,” said Rory, politely ignoring the Doctor’s momentary lapse. “Nice clothes. You look better.”

“You smell better,” Amy added.

“We weren’t going to mention that,” Jack hissed in an undertone.

“Speak for yourself.” Amy tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m just happy I can take deep breaths around him now. Don’t skip the showers, Doctor; trust me, River won’t be pleased.”

He scowled. Amy raised an eyebrow. He scowled harder.

“Closing statements!” Rory said loudly, waving his hand in front of them. “You all remember, right? River, on trial?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor dryly. “Couldn’t forget. Thank you, Mr Pond for always being the one to state the obvious.”

“Someone has to do it,” said Rory. “I don’t know what would happen if _all_ your friends just stood around and flirted with each other.”

“Sweetheart,” Jack said, slinging his arms around both Rory’s shoulder and Amy’s, “I told you. I’m happy to flirt with you, too.”

“Please don’t,” Rory muttered, trying to shrug Jack’s arm off before finally sighing and leaving it where it was. Amy giggled.

“Isn’t anything off limits to you?” The Doctor asked, glancing at Jack. He shrugged.

“Never laid a hand on _your_ wife.”

“Course not. Because she’d have blasted it off so firmly it would never have grown back.”

“Still my daughter you’re talking about,” Rory said. “And I still have a sword.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “I’ve left you with Jack for how long, and you haven’t learned not to make comments like that? I thought my companions were smarter than that.” 

Rory flushed a bright red as Jack and Amy both laughed, a little hysterically; until the Doctor finally took pity.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the courtroom doors. “Get your seats; I’ll be there in a moment.”

Amy’s laughter faded abruptly. She nodded, reaching behind Jack’s waist to hold Rory’s hand. Rory stared intently at the Doctor, as though willing him not to fail. And Jack smiled, just slightly.

“Good luck, Doctor.”

He needed it. The Doctor spent a few moments longer in the quiet of the hallway, absently rubbing the rings on his finger. It would have been easier if River had been willing to testify. It would have been easier if she’d been willing to admit her shadowed memories… it would have been easier on his state of mind if she’d even realised who he was. The Doctor. Her husband; and he would never let her down. Not now. Not anymore.

He walked quickly into the court, the room falling silent as the door slammed shut behind him. On the bench, the judge made a disapproving sniff.

“I see the defence has finally returned?”

“Had to dress for the occasion,” said the Doctor. “Shame to come into the court for the close of such a serious matter, and not look my best.”

“We notice and approve of the change of attire,” she replied wryly. “Are you ready to begin your closing statement?”

He nodded, still thinking about what he was going to say. How to say it… and he paced before the jury for a few long moments, letting the residual noise in the room die down, quieter and quieter until it was silent. No one dared even draw breath… and then he stopped, turning toward River.

“We’ve heard a lot during this trial about your life,” he said, ignoring the faint murmurs of surprise behind him that he was likely breaking every rule by addressing the accused, and not the jury. “We’ve heard about your birth and what the Church considered a fitting childhood; we’ve heard about your adolescence pulled out of time and spent with your own parents. We’ve heard the witnesses talk about your behaviour in University; the kind acts and the not-so-kind.

“But what we haven’t heard nearly enough of is the act itself; that one you’re on trial for. And I don’t mean what you did. I mean _why_. What made you do it? What was going through your mind? What emotions were in your heart… because despite the prosecution’s arguments, it’s very obvious you have one.” He permitted himself a small smile. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you have enough compassion for two. It may not be obvious to those who don’t know you well… but your friends, your family, your classmates. They can all see who you are.

“Even the Doctor saw, didn’t he?” The Doctor lowered his voice, staring straight into River’s eyes. “And in those last moments he forgave you, because he knew that his death was written in the stars already, and you were only the means to what had to happen. A fixed point… and you can’t cheat fixed points. Tear the Universe apart if you try. Miserable to bring it back intact.” 

River was watching him steadily. A muscle in her cheek twitched; there was a little crease between her brows. The Doctor stared coolly back, before turning to the jury.

“I’m not here to contest the actions of River Song on that beach.” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “I can’t. But what I can say is that the testimony of Rory Williams told you an important thing. You remember it, don’t you?” The Doctor craned his head down, meeting the eyes of everyone in the first row of jury members.

“He said the real question is why she had to. Ladies, gentlemen, others… _Why. She. Had. To?_ ” The Doctor chuckled. “Answer: because there are very few people in this world who can fight against time and win. Because the Doctor may have been a time traveller; a Time Lord, even. One of those few who _can_ manipulate time energy and travel within it.

“But every life has a beginning and an ending. And if you know anything about the Time Lords on Gallifrey, you should know that they don’t live forever. Oh, it might seem like it, to you and to them! But there’s a certain number of times they can cheat death… and the Doctor was at his end. That face had been destined to be his last, his final death was to be on the shores of Lake Silencio… which means that what River Song did was always going to happen. She was meant to kill him.

“And so,” said the Doctor, “we go back to the question of _why_. There are rumours around the Universe, if you know what to listen for. And one of those is that Gallifrey… _lives_.” He lowered his voice dramatically on the last word, raising his eyebrows and grinning fiercely at the jury. “It’s hidden, somewhere. Wrapped and folded in layers of time, keeping it safe until they have the means to find their own way, or cajole someone to bring them back… except of course, if that were true, it would mean that the enemies and monstrosities of the last Time War would be waiting, biding their time to return too. For them, Gallifrey in the heavens would mean resurrection and a call to arms, beginning the battle again.

“So: question. What to do that might help… Send out search parties? Prepare for war? No,” he shook his head. “No, of course not. The easier thing: simply target the last known Time Lord! Make it all rest on _his_ shoulders. A call across the Universe that only he could answer; leading to the return of Gallifrey, the return of the Daleks and their aberrations, the Nightmare King and the army of Never Was’. “Except – oh, _except_.” The Doctor laughed softly.

“Except that if he were to die, it would all die with him. The horrors, never to return… now imagine that _you_ held that choice in your hands.” The Doctor pointed at each individual member of the jury, nodding at them. 

“All of you,” he urged. “Go on, imagine it. The death of one person-“ he held up his left hand, one finger extended, “to prevent the death of the many.” 

He held out his right hand, palm up, fingers splayed. Held his pose for one second, two, three… before curling both hands closed again, letting them drop to his sides. The courtroom was silent. No one moved.

“It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “Knowing that’s your destiny. Killer and therefore saviour, but blamed for your choice. And yet that is exactly what River Song found herself facing. You’ve heard her professors speak of her intelligence so you can be sure she understood both sides; and you’ve heard what she was trained to do, so you know she had the means. The prosecution delighted in naming her a psychopath, and no one can argue that she did a terrible thing, ending the Doctor's life.

“But her reasons! Did she do it for the right reasons? No one can be _forced_ into a decision. If you have a mind, a heart, a soul; you make choices. Right or wrong. Kill or save. Maybe she's not _good_ , but who is? Is there any among you who can absolutely say that you are a good person?” 

The Doctor closed his eyes. Thinking, remembering. His Eleventh self crumpled before River on the beach. The droid lifeless before him. Impossible choices that had to be made.

“Sometimes,” he whispered into the silence of the courtroom, “there is no choice except a bad one. Being a good person means that you will make it, regardless.”

He opened his eyes, turning slightly to look at each person in the jury box in turn.

“And before you make your choice to convict, I want all of you to ask yourself a question. If it were you on that beach, if you were faced with her decision… what would you have chosen to do? Would you have chosen to save the Doctor that day and know that you could be dooming the rest of the Universe? Or could you have been as strong as River had to be… and how would you want to be judged?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The verdict took less than five minutes.

The verdict took less than five minutes.

River’s guilt regarding the crime was obvious to one and all; but most of the jury couldn’t bring themselves to commit her. Even the judge, standing in the name of the Shadow Proclamation only gazed impassively at River before she sighed.

“We find that in this case,” she announced to the packed courtroom, “our judgement is for leniency. Imprisonment, not execution. River Song will serve twelve thousand consecutive life sentences; and there will be opportunities given for pardon. Thank you to our jury, for their difficult decision. You may go.”

He hadn't expected it to go any other way, but the Doctor grinned proudly, tucking his hands into his pockets. Without a plan, without her testimony; yet he'd managed it after all. Timelines preserved. Most important: his wife saved. He glanced up at River, expecting to see her smiling at him.

But even from across the room he could read her expression. Confusion and surprise... a hint of grief. Her eyes seemed angry, almost accusing as they locked on his; and it hurt. He didn't know what he'd expected. But it suddenly felt like he’d accomplished nothing here, after all.

Two thousand years old; and he suddenly felt every single year of it. His shoulders hunched; his eyes dropped from her gaze. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to talk to anyone… the Doctor strode toward the door, ignoring the calls from the media asking for his opinion, the friendly faces of the jurors.

And yet, he couldn’t help stopping just outside the visitation room, listening to Jack and the Ponds inside; and the Doctor hesitated for longer than he would ever admit to, if asked. He could walk away, knowing Jack would understand why he didn't want to see them. He knew Jack would even bring them back home, without being asked.

But he wanted this. To see them one more time. Two minutes at most; he doubted he'd see his Ponds again after this.

His body decided before his mind caught up. The Doctor pushed the door open and found his arms suddenly full of Amy Pond and no way to tell her he didn’t hug anymore.

“That was a good speech,” she mumbled into his collar. He awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“It worked,” he answered gruffly.

“Didn’t you know it would?” Rory asked. “You knew how her trial had to go.” There was no grief or censure in his voice, only a faint air of resignation that still made the Doctor shrug uncomfortably.

“I couldn’t change things,” he admitted. “Even if I wanted. There were timelines to preserve. You know-“

“We know,” Amy said quickly. “We hoped maybe… but no. Anyway, we knew that she’ll be pardoned eventually.”

“And we’ll see her,” added Rory. “All the time.”

“That’s what you get for having a daughter who’s an escape artist,” said the Doctor.

Rory grinned, looking both sheepish and proud. “Not many people get to say: my daughter is an escape artist, who can get out of her maximum security prison in the Fifty-first century to go on dates with her dead husband any time she likes. Yeah…it’s cool. We can live with that.”

Despite how he felt, the Doctor managed a brief smile. “Tell her that, when she’s younger,” he said. “So that she’ll remember, in the days you’re too young to say it.”

Rory nodded, but Amy stepped back, scrutinising the Doctor’s face.

“And you?” she asked. “Jack said that the guards will bring her back to see us before she gets transported to Stormcage. What are you planning to tell her?”

“Nothing.” The Doctor swallowed, trying to seem casual. “I don’t have to say anything.”

Amy frowned. “You're not going to say goodbye?”

The Doctor hesitated, not knowing what to say. So many goodbyes already: the Library, Trenzalore. Maybe he could make this one hurt himself a little less by simply leaving... After all, River had so much before her. A life with a husband she actually knew; and he grimaced, thinking of her face back in the courtroom. Anger and grief and confusion; unfamiliar expressions for her to direct toward him, and he hated how they were making him feel.

Hopeless. Miserable. Adrift in his own skin.

“She'll see me soon enough," the Doctor finally said. "Anyway, I’ve a companion waiting for me. I promised her coffee. And you know how I hate to be late for an appointment.”

Rory snorted, then tried to cover it with an unsubtle bout of coughing; and Amy began to snicker.

“First time for everything?" she asked, pretending to ignore his pointed glare. “Okay, then. You’re going to go, River will see you soon, and we’ll see you…?”

The Doctor bit the inside of his cheek; his eyes quickly scanning Amy’s face. The silver strands in the bright red; the lines around her eyes…

“Soon,” he promised. “I always come back, Pond. I’ll take you on a trip somewhere.”

“Well,” Amy said, nudging her hand against his, “tell whichever you we see, that you said you’d take us to New York.”

The Doctor frowned, not wanting to be reminded. New York and Weeping Angels and goodbyes. “That’s in my past, Amelia,” he said gruffly. “Can’t remind him of anything.”

“Oh,” she said, considering. “I guess that’s right. Then… did we have a good time? Find what we were looking for… a little girl hiding in an alley?” Her eyes were fixed on his, and so hopeful that he scowled harder.

“Can’t tell you that either.”

“And I thought the other you was Mr Grumpy Pants,” Amy muttered. “You’re giving him a run for his money.”

“Not grumpy,” said Rory. “Scottish.”

“Don’t blame us for him,” Amy retorted. But then she relented, grinning up at the Doctor.

“Take care of our daughter. Promise, now. Your honour as a Scot.”

“I always do,” said the Doctor. “And I should still go. River will be here soon. And Jack will bring you back to Leadworth.”

But he still didn’t move. Just stood for a moment, looking at his Ponds. Happy, healthy, alive… he didn’t think he hugged now and he never said goodbye. But this might really be the last time he saw them; and he shifted uncomfortably before shrugging, spreading his arms just enough to pull them both into him.

“Be well,” said the Doctor gruffly.

“You too,” said Rory, his face mashed up against the Doctor’s shoulder. “But… do you mind letting me go? It’s fine,” he said hastily. “Hugging… no, that’s great. Keep hugging Amy, if she wants it. But we can say goodbye from a little ways away.”

The Doctor bit back a smile, letting Rory go, but hugging Amy tightly for one moment longer until she began to fidget, hissing instructions into his ear.

“Don’t travel alone,” she whispered. “And remember to shower. Be good to my daughter. And to yourself… alright?”

“Yes, Mummy,” the Doctor said sarcastically. Amy drew back, glaring; but he glared back at her until her lips twitched in a faint smile.

“Mother in law,” she said, raising her chin. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I could never forget my Ponds,” the Doctor muttered before nodding one last time, hastily backing out of the room, before he could say anything else embarrassing.

Before the door could swing shut behind him though, it was pushed back open and Jack slipped out to look meaningfully at the Doctor, brows raised. The Doctor sighed. He’d known his luck wouldn’t hold; Jack had been quiet when he was talking to the Ponds, staying in the background; but the Captain would always have found a way to talk to him before he left.

“So,” Jack said, not even making any attempt at small talk. “You did it.”

“Obviously,” said the Doctor. “Not like I had a choice, did I?”

“There are always choices, Doctor. You know that.”

He did. But this situation: River’s trial, her personal history. Once, she’d told him not to rewrite one line; in which case it could be argued that all this was meant to happen. She was meant to kill him on the shores of Lake Silencio – he was meant to come back, years later, to save her from a death sentence.

And yet, it stung. Timelines aside, nothing he'd done here felt like a victory.

“I have to go,” said the Doctor shortly. “I keep saying that I have a companion to get back to, coffee to pick up-"

“ _And_ a time machine,” interrupted Jack. “I think what you really have is no want to continue this conversation right now."

He wished, in this instant that Jack didn't know him as well as he did. The Doctor shrugged, choosing not answer; and Jack sighed.

“This regeneration...” Jack shook his head. “Look, before you run off, I just needed to ask something about the Ponds. What they should know about the future... I'm only asking because we developed something at Torchwood…”

“Retcon?” the Doctor asked, scowling.

“Yeah." Jack looked faintly uncomfortable. “That. And I know, I know. It’s not ethical… but the timelines. The person who sent me said I should give you the option. I can slip the retcon into their tea, if you want. All of them, even River. So they’ll forget they ever saw this version of you.”

The Doctor hesitated. He should say yes. He knew that he should… There was too much at risk if the Ponds slipped, hinting to his earlier self that they knew a different, older face that should never have happened.

But he couldn’t force himself to steal anything more from them. They’d all been through so much because of him. And even if it was just the experience of them together in the aftermath of River’s trial… there was so little time for his Ponds to be a family; and he knew from personal experience that it would be over soon enough.

“No,” said the Doctor finally. “Let them keep their memories. They might not end up with anything else, one day.”

Jack smiled, looking relieved. “I hoped you’d say that. You’re a good man, Doctor.”

The Doctor snorted, choosing not to answer the way he wanted to. _I doubt that_. But Jack was still grinning at him, as though he'd guessed what he was thinking.

“Word of advice for this particular regeneration, Doc. Your inside voice should stay inside your head,” Jack said. “Try not to say everything you're thinking aloud.”

The Doctor bit back the string of swear words threatening to come out his mouth, instead fixing Jack with a stern glare and saying: “we're done.”

“Yes…” Jack's head was tilted to the side, as though he was listening. And then he nodded. “Yes, you're right. We're done.”

A second too late, the Doctor realised what Jack had been listening for. The measured tread of feet, a faint counterpoint of jingling chains. The Judoon, escorting River to the visitation room.... and thanks to the good Captain, he'd been delayed enough to have to see River after all.

“Traitor,” the Doctor hissed beneath his breath. Jack only laughed, giving him a brief two finger salute before disappearing into the room. Leaving the Doctor alone in the hall to face his wife; who stopped a few paces away from him, the Judoon behind her.

River bit her lip, finally murmuring in a low voice: “I thought you'd have left by now."

“I had planned to,” the Doctor admitted. “Your friend detained me.”

“Good. I had wanted to ask you something... I'll have to remember to thank him for keeping you here.”

The Doctor cringed, thinking of how Jack was often thanked for help. “A card would suffice.”

One of River's eyebrows lifted, mockingly. “I'll tell him you said so.”

“You do that,” the Doctor muttered. “He'll understand.”

River stared at him, green eyes opening wider in surprise. “Oh,” she breathed, “the look on your face just now... Are you jealous of Jack for some reason?”

“Of him?” The Doctor scoffed. “No. Of course not.”

“I wouldn't blame you, if you were. He's handsome, loyal. A good friend,” River said, smiling slightly before adding: “and a very good man.”

The Doctor frowned, not wanting to ask; and yet the question came out his mouth against his will. “What about me?”

“What about you?” River asked, giving him a coolly appraising look that made him quickly stammer out his reply.

“You're giving Jack compliments, and he's not even here. So... your defence." He was trying to sound casual, and had a feeling he was failing. "What do you have to say about me?”

River shrugged. “Dye the roots and crack a smile. I don't think it'll kill you.”

The Doctor frowned, not wanting to admit: _that's not what I meant_. He'd never had to tell River what he meant before. She'd always just known what he needed to hear.

“You know,” River said suddenly, “you're not as good at hiding your thoughts as you think. I can see what you’re thinking; it’s written all over your face. If we’re not talking about Jack, then it's someone else. You are jealous. 

“In fact,” she continued, “I think it's why you agreed to help me in the first place... I said it before. It's not everyone who would defend a murderer... so why don't you finally tell me the truth?”

Her tone was… not quite teasing. It was more of a taunt; and the Doctor shook his head, refusing to admit she was right. (Unfair that she couldn’t recognise him, but could still manage to know his face enough to read him.)

It was impossible to say he was jealous of the way she used to look at him. That she knew him, knew all the stories; and yet she still saw a good man. One worth saving... even if he'd been an idiot. Running so much that he didn't appreciate what he had almost lost, if his later self hadn't come back to save her trial at the last moment.

“Jack is a good man. But you think I'm not?” the Doctor asked, choosing not to answer River's question.

He should have known she wouldn’t be distracted. River shrugged casually, crossing her arms and surveying him. Her eyes tracked up and down; he could actually feel the intensity of her gaze as he fought the urge to blush. He was a different man now; but funny that his wife's scrutiny could still do that to him.

“I don't know you,” River said finally. “You've never told me anything about yourself... and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you won't answer my questions. Are you a good man?”

The Doctor winced, inwardly. Yes; there it was. The reason why her verdict didn't feel like a victory. The words of that old poem... count the cost, the battle is won, but the child is lost.

He may have won the trial. Saved her. But if she didn't see him... at the end of everything, River not knowing him felt as though he still didn't know himself.

“Hardly matters,” said the Doctor finally. His hand was curled in a loose fist, his thumb stroking over the rings on his finger. 

“And I will answer your question, River Song. I am jealous. But the person I'm jealous of…”

“Yes,” River prompted. “What about him?”

“He’s gone,” said the Doctor flatly.

“Dead?”

“Good as.”

Her lips pursed; her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment before she opened them again, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. It felt difficult to breathe… The Doctor swallowed, seeing the sadness in her eyes, the small crease between her brows as though she was in pain… and he didn’t know why. 

His younger self might have known how to comfort her, when she looked like that. But he wasn’t that man. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I have to… I have to leave.”

River nodded, the movement sending her curls bouncing around her face. Her hair had always been magic, drawing him in, because he couldn't help reaching out to stroke his hand lightly over them, wrapping one bright curl around his index finger.

River's eyes were following his movements, suspiciously. "What are you doing?" she asked. 

The Doctor shrugged. “Saying good bye.”

He dropped his hand, taking one small step back. Then another, and another. Amazing how fast he could move like that. Almost fast enough that he could pretend not to hear River's whispered request to wait; before he spun around, hastily turning the corner and waiting out of sight until she had entered the visitation room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in the final edits, this chapter was eventually too much, and I had to break it into two... Fic will eventually have nine chapters, and I'll post the epilogue in a few days. Thanks for being patient...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It shouldn’t have surprised him that he left the courtroom and fell straight into another adventure. Soldiers and Rusty the Dalek and a miniaturisation ray… just an ordinary Monday. But River’s words kept ringing through his mind. _‘Are you a good man?’_
> 
> He didn’t know, anymore. He certainly didn’t feel like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long delay in posting this!  
> Thanks again to Megs, Sarah and Natalie - for the encouragement and honest opinions.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that he left the courtroom and fell straight into another adventure. Soldiers and Rusty the Dalek and a miniaturisation ray… just an ordinary Monday. But River’s words kept ringing through his mind. 

_‘Are you a good man?’_

He didn’t know, anymore. He certainly didn’t feel like one.

“You try to be,” Clara had said as she walked out the TARDIS. But the Doctor’s smile faded as the door closed behind her, and he laid a gentle hand on his ship.

“Well, Sexy. What do you think?” he murmured. “The trying; is it ever enough? You still know me, don't you? New regeneration cycle; but am I still the same thief you stole all those years ago? Better? Worse? I wish-” He stopped, shaking his head.

“Ah, I know. You don’t talk in words. Useless to wish otherwise.”

The rotor began to move. Softly, so tentatively that for a moment the Doctor wasn’t certain it was moving; and then faster. Levers flipped, the monitor reset itself; and the TARDIS shot forward so fast that the Doctor skidded on his bum across the floor. Grumbling, he managed to stand up as the ship landed, her doors creaking open.

“Trying to tell me something?” he asked, pushing the door open further to reveal a dim, featureless hallway with a lightning-charged atmosphere... familiar, so familiar that instinct took over and he was walking, taking the turns to bring him to the right place before his mind realised that he knew exactly where he was.

Stormcage. Only a few steps away from River’s cell… He half expected her to be waiting for him, leaning against the bars and smiling. But she was facing away from him, toward the room. The Doctor hesitated, taking in the state of her cell. Stormcage had never been home, officially. Just a base for her to operate out of… and yet, there was an empty, unused feeling about it today. The closet was empty, the bed neatly made. All the little personal effects that were usually tucked around the cell were in a bag at River's feet.

The Doctor licked his lips, tasting the flow of the air and time surrounding him. He was early… very early on her first night. He had managed to arrive moments before his younger self would come to whisk her off to Calderon Beta.

“Well,” River said suddenly, not turning around. “This is a surprise.”

The Doctor cleared his throat self-consciously, tucking his hands in his pockets. “A surprise?”

“Someone coming to see me. And past regular visitation hours…?”

“I don't give a damn about regular hours for anything. Neither do you. Go on,” the Doctor urged. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

“You're wrong.” But River turned slightly as she spoke, shooting him a faintly flirtatious smirk over her shoulder.

“It is you again," she said. "My solicitor... I wondered if your goodbye earlier would really be the last time I saw you.”

It wouldn't be, if one counted his younger self; though of course she wouldn't know that yet. The Doctor managed to smile. 

“I do hate goodbyes,” he admitted. “Too final.”

“Yes; somehow I thought as much.” She walked toward him, each footstep slow and deliberate, like a hunter. The Doctor’s hearts felt like they were beating faster; he could hear the double-beat echoing in his chest, thundering in his ears.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. “You didn’t have to come here.”

He hadn’t chosen to be there. The TARDIS had brought him; but the old girl always had a reason. Not where he wanted to be, but where was needed… the Doctor cleared his throat, standing up straighter. His hands weren’t as restless these days, but his thumb tucked itself into his palm, stroking the inside of his ring; and he knew, suddenly, what he wanted from her.

They were so similar, the two of them. Doing what must be done. Save - kill - rescue - sacrifice... shouldering the consequences afterwards.

But River would know. River always knew... Was it ever worth it, what those choices took from you? What they might make you into?

“I want something from you,” the Doctor said. “I didn't ask for any other sort of payment, being your solicitor… and you didn't make it easy. You gave me nothing to help at your trial; no explanations, no possible defences-“

“I’m a psychopath,” River interrupted glibly. “We don’t need explanation.”

The Doctor scowled. “Don’t act so stupid. You’re _not_ a psychopath. They’re born, not made; weren’t you listening in the courtroom? Training can make you capable; circumstances define a situation. But what you do; well, that’s up to you.

“And you,” he pointed at her, “made a choice on that beach.”

River shrugged, the movement sending her curls bouncing around her shoulders. She looked straight at him, her lips curving into a rather insincere smile.

“You know,” she said calmly, “you disappoint me. All during the trial, I never thought you were the same as everyone else, wanting to believe that no one can be so bad they’re unredeemable... clearly, I was wrong. You did want to understand why-”

“I don’t need your explanation of why,” interrupted the Doctor. “I want to know what your choice was. If it was worth it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” River leaned forward, her hands resting lightly on the bars separating them. “What more could you want? I was trained to kill the Doctor. I was raised and conditioned to kill him.”

The Doctor shook his head. “That’s not the answer I’m looking for. But if you don’t want to say it, then…” His brow furrowed as his mind raced through what he could ask, how he could ask it…

“Tell me,” he said softly, “what you remember about that day.”

“If you like.” River was calm; her breathing controlled, and still with that faint smile on her lips. “But I’d think it's obvious what I remember. The Doctor in front of me. Being inside the space suit. Killing him. A dead body left on the beach, as I ran away from being caught.” Her words were deliberately callous, but he could hear a sudden uncertainty in her voice as her memories blended together, confusing her with the nature of _is_ and _was_ and _could've been_. A beach and a pyramid. A murder and a marriage.

He moved closer to the bars, noticing that River flinched, her muscles tensing as though she sensed a threat. That one small action only proved how young she was - young enough that what would work now, never would later - but regardless of age, he knew his wife. He knew what to tell her, how to get the answer he was looking for. They’d always been far too good at goading each other.

“Try again,” said the Doctor, his tone encouraging, yet almost insulting. “And make it the truth, this time. Because all through your trial, everyone talked about you looking for a good man. Seeking the goodness that you were sure exists in people. So stop being so damn stubborn and see it in yourself. River Song is a better woman than you're trying to pretend she is, out of some ridiculous idea of guilt.”

He was careful of his voice; each word slipped out more harsh and accusing than the last. And he saw the exact moment she got angry enough to lose control of her emotions. 

“What’s wrong with guilt?” River blurted out. Her eyes were furious, her cheeks flushed a dark red as she leaned toward him. “Guilt is a wonderful motivator. The things it can make us do… why don’t you tell me what you’re guilty of?”

“I’m not talking about myself.”

“No, you’re turning this on me. _My_ feelings, _my_ actions; but there’s something in your eyes. What are you hiding?”

“You first.” He looked straight at her, raising his eyebrows. An unmistakable challenge… River never could resist a challenge.

“Go on. Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me what you chose on that beach, River.”

“I chose to save him!” The words burst from her, and she clapped her hands to her lips, horrified. The Doctor permitted himself a smile.

“So difficult to admit?”

“Well, it didn't work, did it? I tried not to be what they made me. Because the Doctor... the stories said that he left Gallifrey because he was the type of person who does the right thing, even if people don't realise his motives. And I thought that if _he_ could be so different, even with those years of tradition and breeding, then _I_ could...

“But I couldn't.” River never really cried, and she wasn't crying now. His wife was so strong, so stubborn. But her posture: fingers clamped tightly on each other, her eyes enormous in her face as she met his gaze.

“I killed him. I tried to save him, and he’s still gone... and you should never have gotten the sentence overturned.” Her voice was quiet, almost swallowed up by the dark stone walls and lightning-charged atmosphere in Stormcage. “What I did... I don't deserve anything. I'm not –“

“Shut up,” the Doctor growled suddenly. “If you're going to say what I think you want to say? Not worth saving? You?”

River didn't say anything. Only frowned, her eyes dropping from his; and the Doctor fought the urge to groan. Hindsight was ever perfect, though he did blame regeneration for making his brain slower, unable to understand... Clearly, he should've told her the truth earlier. He'd known all during the trial that she didn't remember completely what had happened. He just hadn't realised how hurt she was. Trying to save him, thinking she'd failed; the guilt eating away at her. 

He remembered feeling like that. His Ninth self, grieving for Gallifrey. His Tenth self, counting the children who'd been lost, repenting the choice he'd had to make. The long years blaming himself, hating himself... until he stood on a pyramid in a time that didn't really exist, facing a woman who would rather kill all of time than him. Who had called into the universe to remind him that he was loved; and despite everything, by no one more than her.

He was a new man, in a new regeneration; and he was still an idiot. Yes; they were alike. _So_ much alike: doing what had to be done, hiding the damage and forgetting to forgive themselves… at least until someone loved them enough to remind them what being a good person really meant to people like them.

“You know,” the Doctor mused aloud, pretending he was talking to himself, “it's amazing what can return as long as it's not forgotten. Things, big and small. Planets, sometimes. And people... haven't you heard the stories about your father? Died and came back so many times he had a frequent visitor’s pass.”

He raised an eyebrow, noticing that River had turned toward him. The Doctor waited, watching as her frown faltered, forehead furrowed in thought; and then her eyes were wide, lit up as a myriad of emotions flickered through their green depths. Hope and a hint of excitement, fear that she had misunderstood...

“No,” said the Doctor, certain he was correctly interpreting her expression. “I'm not lying. I might about other things; but not this. Never about the important things.” He held his hand out, fingers extending through the bars until River very tentatively put her hand in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze, thumb caressing over her knuckles.

“Trust me,” he said. “You didn't trust me your whole trial, but trust me on this. You didn't kill him, River. Those memories, feel them inside your mind, hiding? _They're_ the truth. Your Doctor isn't dead. In fact, you’ll see him soon. He’ll show up here and ask you for a promise. Covering up his death... but in exchange, he’ll take you away. Every night, River. You and him, together.”

“Running through time and space?” She was trying to smile, the corners of her lips trembled but seemed unable to turn fully upward.

“As far,” said the Doctor, “and as fast as you could want.”

She didn't say anything for a long time; just leaned into the bars, her hand still clasped in his and fingers trembling. The Doctor realised that he was trembling, himself. He hadn't lied to Clara about hugging. Not his thing, these days. (In fact, physical contact seemed overly... personal. Far too human a concept for him now, in this new regeneration cycle.)

But this was different, because it was River's hand in his, with the warmth of her fingers against his palm. The Doctor sighed; and River suddenly looked up at him, her grip on his hand almost painfully tight for a moment.

“That's it,” she murmured. “Why you defended me. You knew all along that he wasn't dead... did he send you?”

“In a way,” the Doctor hedged.

River nodded. “Of course. If I’d thought about it before, I would have realised. The stories said he did that sort of thing; calling in favours to help his friends. Even though… well.” She smiled self-consciously, her eyes skipping away from him.

“When you first came into the court... for a moment, I thought that _you_ could be him.”

The Doctor froze. His face felt as though it had just stopped working; he wasn't certain what expression was on it, but it was enough for River to begin speaking uncharacteristically quickly. As though she'd taken on his earlier self's tendency to babble.

“I knew it was impossible - I mean: I’ve seen his earlier faces - and if I was right about what happened on the beach then there couldn’t have been any others." River sucked in a deep breath, lifting her chin until she was looking up at the Doctor. In the dim lights of Stormcage, her eyes were large and luminous; it felt, to the Doctor, like she was looking straight into his soul.

“There was just something about you… No.” She shook her head. “It was _everything_ about you that seemed familiar. The confidence that you can talk your way out of everything. How you dressed up the last day in court… he does that too, you know. Wearing something outlandish, but dressing to the nines for an occasion.

“And you called my Mother, Pond. Made fun of archaeology. Knew about Gallifrey and fixed points; even about time dying... It seemed the more I saw you, the more I could see him in you.” 

She shrugged. “I suppose I just saw what I was hoping for.”

 _Or what you needed,_ the Doctor suddenly thought. Sometimes we all get what we need… and then he began to laugh. The first time he'd properly laughed in body; and all because of her. His wife. 

She’d seen him after all.

And suddenly, everything felt right. Absolutely and completely right; and not just for a fleeting moment. His clothes fit, his mind felt clear for the first time since regeneration. He was about to tell her: _you were right. Maybe I am still the Doctor, even after everything._

But he could feel timelines closing in on him. Even the TARDIS could only hold back paradox so long... and the tightness in his chest, his hearts beating faster was a warning. His other self must be arriving, and there was no more time for big revelations.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

River blinked, confused. “For what? Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you? The trial and your defense… you were the one who saved me, remember?”

“Let’s call us equal,” the Doctor said, still grinning. His fingers tightened on River's; he flipped their hands over, bending his head down to press a soft kiss into the centre of her palm. River stared at him, her eyes wide in surprise and her cheeks were suddenly, becomingly flushed. 

“Equal for now,” the Doctor said, unable to keep the teasing tone from his voice. “At least until next time. I’ll see you again, River.”

He brushed his lips over her palm once more, before he let go, backing away to keep her in his sight until he turned the corner and hurried to make it to his TARDIS right as he heard his earlier self’s ship materialise. The Doctor closed the door behind him, in a rush to set the coordinates to bring him to the vortex before he relaxed, his hands idle on the controls.

Pond had told him earlier: _go save someone. Remember what it's like to be the Doctor._

Well. New set of regenerations, new clothes, a new ring on his finger. And his wife's words, echoing in his ears.

 _I could see him in you._

Was he really the good man River had chosen to save? Even with blood on his hands, the deaths on his conscience...

He didn't honestly know. Maybe he still was. Or, maybe… he could be.

Only one way to find out. With a grin, the Doctor flicked the controls to send the TARDIS hurtling out into space, in search of his next adventure.


End file.
